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BOOKS BY 
EDNA A. BROWN 


Cloth. Illustrated. 


i FOUR GORDONS Price $1.50 

UNCLE DAVID’S BOYS. . . . Price Net $1.00 

Postpaid $1.10 

"WHEN MAX CAME Price Net $1.20 

Postpaid $1.30 


ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER Price Net $1.20 

Postpaid $1.32 


LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 

BOSTON 





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“He’s such a little chap.’’ — Page 342 



ARNOLD’S 
LITTLE BROTHER 


BY^ 

EDNA Ai^ROWN 

n 


Author of “Four Gordons,** "Uncle David’s Boys,** 
“When Max Came** 


ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN GOSS 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 


Published, April, 1915 



Copyright, 1915, By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 


All rights reserved 


ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


•florwooD ipre66 

BERWICK & SMITH CO. 

NOKWOOD, MASS. 

^ u. S. A. 

ftPR -5 1915 

©CI.a;J974()2 


\ 

1 


' TO 

M. E. R. 

FOR “debts of love UNPAID. 











CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Study 18 11 

II. Archer 18 

III. At the “Nursery” 31 

IV. Introducing Patsy Chase 45 

V. The Voyage op the Lucy 60 

VI. On the Gridiron 71 

VII. With the Lower School 86 

VIII. Sunday Afternoon 100 

IX. The Faulkner Game 115 

X. In the Library 129 

XI. A Half-Holiday 140 

XII. Vespers 155 

XIII. The China Cat 163 

XIV. Christmas 177 

XV. After Vacation 191 

XVI. “Alice in Wonderland” 202 

XVII. A Queer Problem 217 

XVIII. Still Unsolved 229 

XIX. What Paul Thought 238 

XX. Gabriel, Invalid 246 

XXI. Private Detective Lansing 255 

XXII. On the River 275 

XXIII. A Talk with Uncle Court 295 

XXIV. Concerning Oatmeal 309 

XXV. Alexis Discovery 327 

XXVI. In the Doctor^s Study 336 




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such a little chap” {Page 342) . Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE * 

“This is Patsy Chase” 52 

“Go TO THE side-line!” ........... 122 

“What in creation is ihatV^ . . . . " . . . 164 

For a moment he stood amazed 284^ 

“What is it?” asked Paul . 306*^ 




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ARNOLD’S LITTLE 
BROTHER 


CHAPTER I 

STUDY 18 

Paul Arnold, dashing up to his room in Fos- 
ter Hall, fresh from football practice one glo- 
rious October afternoon, entered Study 18 with 
great precipitancy. There resulted a head-on 
collision with his emerging room-mate. 

Great Scott, Paul, this is no gridiron!’’ re- 
monstrated the victim of his haste. 

‘‘Beg pardon!” laughed Paul, himself recov- 
ering balance while Alex gingerly examined his 
nose. “Now, if you only played the game, 
you’d know the proper guard for an onslaught 
like that.” 

“It’s quite suiBScient to room with a fellow 
who plays,” retorted Alex, recovering the eye- 
glasses knocked from their hold by Paul’s im- 
petuosity. “I get enough! There are some 
11 


12 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


letters on your desk,’’ lie added, disappearing 
down the corridor. 

Paul shut the study door, went into his bed- 
room, pulled off his football rig, and dove into 
a bathrobe before examining his mail. Several 
evident advertisements were tossed aside with- 
out examination, leaving two personal letters, 
one directed in a lady’s penmanship, the other 
as plainly by a masculine hand. 

^‘Mother and Uncle Court,” he thought. 
‘‘Have I time to read them? Got to get a 
shower and dress before dinner.” 

Time or no time, Paul read the letters, an ex- 
pression of interest deepening on his face as he 
turned from the first to the second. The clock 
on the bookcase had ticked six minutes into eter- 
nity before Paul tossed both epistles into his 
desk and departed for the bathroom. 

Alex Sherman, returning, frowned at the dis- 
order of the unoccupied study. It was a pleas- 
ant apartment with a southern exposure and a 
fine view over the river to the distant hills. 
Just now, the sun was lighting them with a 
glory that held Alex’s attention. He was a tall, 
well-built fellow of seventeen, with heavy brown 
hair and beautiful brown eyes, their soft vel- 


STUDY 1 8 


13 

vety look due, unfortunately, to pronounced as- 
tigmatism. Not particularly good-looking, lie 
was distinctly good looking, a quiet, pleasant 
fellow, liked by all the boys at St. Stephen’s, but 
perhaps thoroughly appreciated only by those 
who knew him best. Why he and brilliant, 
clever Paul Arnold, captain of the eleven, leader 
of the Glee Club, House-president of Foster, 
and easily one of the most popular and admired 
students in school, had been room-mates and 
friends ever since they met as little boys in the 
‘‘Nursery,” was a matter of interest to many. 
But to Dr. Hilton, the principal, to the faculty 
in general, and to those of their class who knew 
both well, the arrangement seemed natural. 

Alex was still watching the sunset when Paul 
reentered, less tempestuously this time, but still 
in haste. To dress fully and present an im- 
maculate and unrufSed exterior for dinner in- 
side of seven minutes might seem difficult to the 
uninitiated, but Paul could do it with ease. At 
present, he was hurrying too much for speech, 
but just as he reached the stage of pumps and 
necktie, Alex turned from the window, cast- 
ing a critical and disapproving glance into 
Paul’s bedroom. 


14 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘ ^ Oil, I know my room looks like destruction ! ’ ’ 
said Paul. ‘‘But I am in a hurry.’’ 

“You always are,” commented Alex with the 
dispassionate tone of one who merely looks on. 
“I know your moral character is irreproach- 
able, but you haven’t much sense of time and 
none at all of order. At least,” he added, “till 
I took you in hand. Really, Paul, I’d rather 
room with a tidy sinner than a messy saint.” 

Paul smiled again as he settled the obstinate 
tie and looked into the mirror to See whether his 
hair was smooth. Then he turned to gather the 
scattered garments so disturbing to Alex’s 
peace of mind. 

“Dinner is late,” he observed, as he hustled 
the padded trousers and worn jersey into a 
closet, and came out into the study. “Bet you 
anything you like that you can ’t guess what 
news I’ve had.” 

“Uncle’s struck a gold mine. Mother’s com- 
ing north for the winter,” observed Alex lazily. 

“Neither. Wish it was. Well, there were 
letters from them both, and the Imp is coming 
here to school.” 

“What? Archer? Now?” inquired Alex, 
startled out of , his usual calm. 




STUDY 1 8 


15 


^‘There’ll be something doing at St. Stephen’s 
when the Imp strikes it,” Paul went on. ‘T 
don’t know what has precipitated this. The 
plan was for him to come next fall so as to be 
here the last year before I went to college. 
He’s only nine, and that’s rather young, it 
seems to me. Mother’s letter is a bit tearful 
and incoherent, but I reckon Archer has been 
too much for her, and Uncle Court has set his 
foot down. He does sometimes. Poor Mother! 
It was hard on her to be left with two boys to 
bring up. Her letter is chiefly filled with 
charges to me to look after Archer.” 

Alex grinned. ‘‘From all I’ve ever heard 
of your young brother, you’ll have your hands 
full. But he’ll be down at the Nursery. You 
won’t have much chance to look after him.” 

“Not to the extent of seeing that he puts on 
his rubbers and cleans his teeth and says his 
prayers,” Paul agreed. 

“I reckon it’s time that kid went to school,” 
observed Alex gravely. 

“I’m sorry for the matron of the Nursery and 
still sorrier for the master in charge,” Paul 
continued. “It’s Pomeroy, isn’t it? He’ll 
have gray hair inside of six weeks.” 


i6 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

^T’d like to see the fun/’ replied Alex. 
‘^That picture you have of Archer shows him as 
a strayed-angel kind of child. I fear, St. Paul, 
you malign him by calling him Imp. ’ ’ 

‘‘You ought to see a picture Mother has of 
Archer in his surplice. No strayed angel in 
it with him. He’s your ‘young-eyed cherub’ 
fast enough. And the queer part is that 
Archer honestly is angelic, — sometimes ! He ’s 
just plain daffy over music and he certainly can 
sing. But at other times, I believe the Imp 
could give twenty points to the original holy 
terror and then beat him with one hand tied be- 
hind his back.” 

“It’s tough on your mother, ’ ’ said Alex. ‘ ‘ I 
suppose he seems just a little chap to her.” 

“I wonder what he did,” mused Paul. 
“Mother doesn’t explain at all, just says Uncle 
Court thinks it better for Archer to come this 
autumn instead of next year, even though he is 
three weeks late, and then goes on to beg me 
not to let the boys tease him and to see that he 
does and doesn’t do all sorts of things.” 

“But your uncle wrote. Doesn’t he say why 
the kid’s to come?” 


STUDY 1 8 


17 

‘‘Not exactly. Paul reached for the letter 
as he spoke. “This is what he says: 

“I have advised your mother to send Archer 
to St. Stephen’s at once. He is too much for 
her to manage and ought to be with other and 
older hoys. Of course, he is very young, but 
your being there makes a great difference. 
He needs to learn a number of things and the 
sooner he learns them the better. Now, don’t 
coddle him. Give him what help and advice he 
needs and keep your eye on him generally, but 
let him stand on his own feet and make his own 
way. Above all, if he gets into scrapes, as of 
course he will, let him take the consequences. 
Archer has good stuff in him and he will evolve 
all right in time, but it will be better for your 
mother if the process takes place at a distance.” 

“Your mother’s counsel and that of your 
uncle seem rather contradictory,” observed 
Alex in amusement. “And what declareth the 
wisdom of St. Paul?” 

“The Imp will jolly well paddle his own 
canoe. If he upsets it. I’ll pull him out, but he 
can take his chances with the other youngsters. 
He’s a comical kid and I rather think they’ll 
take to him. There’s that bell at last!” 


CHAPTEE II 


AROHEE 

On the afternoon his brother was to arrive, 
Panl went to Boston. The express was late 
and he had a chance to cool his heels on the 
platform for half an hour before it was sig- 
naled. 

‘‘Didn’t know I should be so glad to see the 
Imp,” he thought, conscious of a curious little 
feeling of expectancy as the long line of sleepers 
pulled in and the powerful engine came to a 
stand at the end of its weary journey. “Hope 
he got on all right. He’s sort of a little kid to 
come so far alone.” 

Paul stood watching the descending passen- 
gers and presently saw a familiar small person, 
accompanied by a porter carrying a suit-case. 
That was the Imp fast enough! Nobody else 
had such an erect, lithe little figure, such an ab- 
surdly cherubic face, such big blue eyes, such a 
mop of curly yellow hair! The next moment 
18 


ARCHER 


19 


Archer saw his tall brother and a delighted 
grin spread over his countenance. Paul felt a 
little choke in his own throat and, to his surprise, 
not only didn^t mind Archer’s impetuous em- 
brace, but hugged the Imp as heartily in re- 
turn. 

‘‘I’m awfully glad to see you, Paul!” said 
Archer happily. ‘ ‘ Where do we go now ? ’ ’ 

“Oh, we’ll get your trunk and take a cab to 
the other station. Tired? Had a good trip?” 

“Yes,” replied Archer. “But I’m glad to 
get here. Is it far to St. Stephen’s?” 

“We’ll be there in another hour. Just take 
that case to a cab and hold it for me,” said 
Paul, turning to the porter. ‘ ‘ Let me have your 
trunk check.” 

Archer produced it. “That’s a very nice 
colored man,” he observed, indicating the grin- 
ning porter. “He’s ’most as nice as our 
Henry.” 

The mention of the colored butler sent a flood 
of eager questions to Paul’s lips but he re- 
pressed them and attended to the necessary 
transfer. Not imtil they were seated in the 
Riverview train from the North Station did he 
feel at liberty to begin. 


20 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


“Now, tell me how Mother is,’^ he com- 
manded. 

“Oh, she^s well and sent you lots of love,’^ 
replied his brother, gazing from the window. 
“So did Uncle Court. What^s thatU’ 

“Bunker Hill Monument,’’ replied Paul 
rather absently, for he was looking critically at 
Archer. There was a strong family resem- 
blance between the brothers, perhaps accentu- 
ated by their different coloring. Paul’s steady 
eyes were gray and had a fashion of meeting 
those of other people most simply and frankly. 
His brown hair was brushed back from a fine 
forehead and his lips, though quick to smile, al- 
ready shut in lines expressive of character and 
purpose. 

Archer was tall for his age and still pos- 
sessed his childish grace of motion. Some acci- 
dent in early childhood had left a faint little 
scar on a line with and slightly higher than the 
left corner of his mouth. This gave him the ap- 
pearance of always smiling, even when per- 
fectly grave. The curious one-sided smile dis- 
appeared when the lips relaxed into genuine 
mirth, but Archer’s mouth in repose possessed 
a singularly sweet and innocent expression. 


ARCHER 


21 


which frequently belied the mischievous look in 
his eyes. Never journeyed a youth of more 
seraphic visage to the shrine of St. Stephen’s. 

Paul observed him searchingly, noting, that 
thanks to the ^‘very nice colored man,” who had 
brushed his suit and suggested a clean collar. 
Archer looked well-groomed even after a night 
on the sleeper. 

‘^Now, tell me what you did,” said Paul when 
Bunker Hill Monument had flashed behind 
them. 

‘‘What I did?” inquired Archer, turning 
from the window. “What makes you think I 
did anything?” 

‘ ‘ Because Uncle Court wouldn’t have sent you 
here red-hot, so to speak, if you hadn’t done 
something. What was it?” 

Archer considered. Paul was invariably 
kind to him, often even affectionate. Friendly 
relations had always existed between them. 

“Well, I suppose I might as well tell you,” he 
remarked candidly. “I got tired of going to a 
school where there were girls, so I didn’t go.” 

“Played hookey? Was that all?” 

“Not exactly,” admitted Archer. “I stayed 
away one morning and had a peach of a time 


22 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

with a fellow I know. He is a nice fellow. His 
father drives a coal cart. ’ ^ 

“Oh, does he!’’ remarked Paul. “Well, 
what did you and he do?” 

“We went swimming that morning. The 
next day, we thought we’d go again, and we 
stayed so long that I didn’t get home in time 
for lunch. I had some money, so we went to a 
place where you can get a whole dinner for ten 
cents. Jim liked it, but I didn’t, not very 
much. It was so late then that I thought I 
might just as well not go back until night, so 
we went to the park and saw the monkeys. 
Then Jim went home, ’cause he said his mother 
would tan his hide if he didn’t. I was going 
home, too, but on the way I went by a church 
where there was some music. There wasn’t 
anybody in the church, only the organist play- 
ing, so I sat down to listen. Oh, he could play, 
Paul! I stayed a long time, and I suppose I 
went to sleep for the first I knew, it was some 
time the next day. I guessed I’d better go 
home, so I climbed out a window and went.” 

“You young sinner!” growled Paul. 

“Ow! you tickle,” remonstrated Archer, for 
three fingers of his brother’s hand had gone 


ARCHER 


23 


down inside his collar. ‘ ‘ W ell, I went home and 
when I got in, Mother gave a scream and 
grabbed me and began to cry. Uncle Court 
was telephoning and when he saw me, he 
dropped the receiver and said a very bad word. 
I know it was bad because I said it once and 
Mother washed my mouth out with soap.’’ 

^‘You ought to have been licked,” commented 
Paul. 

guess the only reason Uncle didn’t lick me 
was because Mother wouldn’t let go of me long 
enough so he could,” admired Archer frankly. 
‘‘That was what happened. They gave me 
some breakfast, and Uncle Court came back that 
evening and talked a long time with Mother. 
Then they sent a lot of telegrams, and got some, 
too. ’ ’ 

“Didn’t Uncle Court take you in hand at all, 
you scamp?” demanded Paul. 

“Oh, yes, he said some things to me,” Archer 
replied. “I truly didn’t mean to frighten 
Mother so, and of course I didn’t know they 
were sitting up all night when I was asleep in a 
church just down the street. They found out I 
hadn’t been to school and they didn’t like that, 
either. [Uncle Court came up to my room after 


24 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

I was in bed and told me I was to go to St. 
Stephen’s right away. I was glad, Paul.” 

‘‘I hope he said more than that to you. You 
deserved a lecture. It was dreadful to frighten 
Mother so.” 

^‘That was an accident. I didn’t mean to 
stay away all night, and Uncle Court knew I 
didn’t. He talked some about school and how 
proud he and Mother are of you. Paul, I wish 
you’d change names with me.” 

‘‘What on earth do you mean. Imp?” asked 
Paul, genuinely puzzled. 

“Because it’s a terrible responsibility to be 
named Archer. It’s Father’s name, you know, 
and Uncle Court says they gave it to me, ex- 
pecting I would keep it as honorable a name 
as he did, and that I haven’t any right ever to 
do anything to disgrace it. And I’m afraid I 
shall without knowing it, so I wish you’d change 
with me.” 

“Well, I can’t, you know,” said Paul kindly. 
“I should think it would be a help to remember 
how much people honor Father’s memory and 
that the second Archer Arnold must live up to 
the obligations of his name.” 

“It isn’t!” sighed Archer. “That’s all I 


ARCHER 


25 


did, truly, Paul. And the next day. Uncle Court 
took me down town and was going to buy me a 
football suit but I didn’t want it.” 

‘^Not want it? Don’t you want to play foot- 
ball?” 

‘‘No, I don’t think I do. I feel sure I don’t. 
But Uncle said if I changed my mind, you could 
get me one. And he bought me a dandy new 
tennis racquet and some pajamas ’cause I 
wanted them like yours, and Mother would never 
let me have anything but long nightgowns that I 
hate. But Uncle got them and asked if I wanted 
anything else. I said a piano, but he thought 
not yet. And then I suggested a canoe, but he 
said I couldn’t have that, either. You have 
one.” 

“Yes, and I’ll take you out. There are boats 
belonging to the school and after Dr. Cary is 
satisfied you can swim well enough, you will be 
allowed to use them. You’re too young to have 
a canoe. Only the Upper School may have 
those.” 

“I’m glad you’re here now, Paul,” said 
Archer with the smile that charmed all who 
came in contact with him. “And can I room 
with you?” 


26 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


His brother shook his head. ‘^You’ll have 
to go down in Clarke House with the other small 
chaps. We call it the Nursery. There are a 
jolly lot there, about twenty boys, and they have 
nice times.’’ 

Can’t I ever see you I” 

‘^Oh, yes, of course. You can come to my 
room any time you like. I’m pretty busy, with 
studying, athletics, and everything, so you 
mustn’t expect to see a great deal of me. But 
you’ll see me in chapel, and I’ll always be where 
you can get me if you need me.” 

‘^Who will be my room-mate?” inquired 
Archer with rising curiosity. 

‘^You’re going to be put in with a nice kid. 
He’s new this term, but he’s a jolly little chap 
and Dr. Hilton thought you two would hit it off 
together. His name is Bryan Bellew, but the 
fellows call him Boy Blue.” 

‘‘That sounds interesting,” said Archer. “I 
guess I’ll like him.” 

“I think you will. And see here. Imp, you 
want to make friends with the chaps in your 
house. That’s why they are put together. 
And some of them will be in school as long as 
you are. You see, don’t you? Mrs. Holmes is 


ARCHER 


27 


the matron at the Nursery and she is a good 
sort. The master in charge is Pomeroy and 
he ’s white, too. And, Archer, don ’t get into any 
more scrapes than you can help, but when you 
do find yourself in a fix, just own up. They 
don’t expect us to be perfect here, but they do 
expect a fellow to be strictly above board. ’ ’ 

‘‘Paul, I’m going to be good. I told Uncle 
Court I would,” said Archer sweetly. 

“I know you mean to be, old chap, but I 
know your ideas of goodness. Look, you can 
see the sky-line of St. Stephen’s now. See, on 
the hill, there.” 

Archer turned eager eyes on the towers and 
spire silhouetted against the clouds, and pressed 
his face against the pane until the train swept 
into the station and came to a pause with a 
grinding of brakes. He was silent during the 
drive of a mile, listening intently to Paul’s re- 
marks as they traversed the main street of the 
village. 

“That’s the bookstore there. That’s the 
Grub Shop. We ’ll go and have ice-cream soon. 
That’s the Salter House. Hello, Al! That 
fellow is the captain of the nine. This next 
house is Sanderson. The one over there is 


28 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


Foster; that’s where I room. This little low 
building is the office. That’s the library, and 
the gym across. Here we are!” 

The cab turned down a drive and came to a 
stand before a rather battered brick building. 
Its lines were impressive and the architecture 
good, but curtains rolled askew and windows 
open at all angles detracted somewhat from the 
dignity of its appearance. Half a dozen small 
boys were playing ball on the green before its 
door, but the game came to an abrupt conclusion 
as the cab drew up. When Paul stepped out, 
the entire group of players stiffened into atti- 
tudes of admiring attention, for each and every 
one of them secretly adored Arnold as a shining 
and inaccessible light in the school world. 
Their admiration was mingled with interest as 
Archer followed. 

‘‘Hello,” said Paul, beckoning to the nearest. 
“Is Mrs. Holmes in, do you know?” 

“She’s in her sitting-room,” replied the boy 
eagerly. “I’ll call her.” 

“Mrs. Holmes, this is my brother, Archer,” 
said Paul a moment later. 

“I’m very glad to have you here,” said Mrs. 
Holmes, shaking hands with Archer. “It isn’t 


ARCHER 


29 


many years since Paul came to Clarke House.’’ 

‘H’ll leave you now, Archer. Mrs. Holmes 
will tell you what to do, and after dinner I’ll 
come and take you to see the Doctor.” 

Giving him a farewell slap on the shoulder, 
Paul dashed off at full speed across the campus. 
Archer looked after him and then followed Mrs. 
Holmes. She was a middle-aged woman with a 
refined face and pleasant voice. 

‘‘This is the living-room. Archer, and right 
behind it is my little sitting-room. I’m always 
glad to have the boys come to see me and if you 
don’t feel well or anything troubles you, you 
must come and tell me all about it. I’m used to 
boys, you see, so I can almost always help them 
about things. Across the hall, is Mr. Pome- 
roy’s study and his bedroom. The dining-room 
is this way.” 

Archer had paused, looking around the liv- 
ing-room, a sunny, homelike place, with a big 
open hearth, decked now with feathery bunches 
of asparagus, but suggestive of jolly fires on 
cold winter nights. The furniture was battered 
but substantial and the room gave an impres- 
sion of having seen many festive times. In 
one corner stood a small piano. 


30 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘ ‘ Oh, can the fellows use that ? ’ ’ Archer asked 
eagerly as his eyes fell on the instrument. 

‘‘Why, yes, it is for them,^’ replied Mrs. 
Holmes in surprise, for in all her fifteen years’ 
experience with small boys at Clarke House, 
this was the first time such inquiry had been 
made. 

Upstairs were double rooms and baths and on 
the third floor a similar arrangement. Mrs. 
Holmes preceded Archer down the third story 
hall toward a door that bore on its exterior the 
mystic number seven. From its other side 
came a chorus of boyish voices, stilled at her 
knock. 


CHAPTER III 


AT THE NIJBSEEY 

The boy who opened the door in response to 
the matron’s knock was about Archer’s age but 
sturdier and not as tall. He had a round, 
merry, much-freckled face, shaggy black hair, 
and blue eyes. Three other occupants of the 
room promptly rose to their feet at sight of 
Mrs. Holmes. 

^ ‘Bryan, this is your new room-mate. Archer 
Arnold,” she said. 

Bryan solemnly extended a hand which 
Archer as solemnly shook. 

“He is Paul Arnold’s brother, you know,” 
added Mrs. Holmes. “And these are some 
more of our Clarke House boys. Here are Hol- 
brook Foster and Carl EUiott and Fred Pres- 
ton. ” 

Each of the boys as mentioned greeted Archer 
politely and remained staring at him until the 
matron smilingly commended him to Bryan’s 
care and withdrew. 


31 


32 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘^Say, aren’t you in luck to be Paul Arnold’s 
brother,” remarked Bryan as the door closed. 

‘^Why?” asked Archer. 

This innocent query shook number seven to 
its very foundations. Four small boys gasped 
with horror. 

‘‘Why — ^why — he’s — ^well, he is Arnold, you 
see,” explained Bryan lamely, trying to col- 
lect sufficient speech to express his thoughts. 
“He’s such a cracker jack! I should think 
you’d be awfully proud of him.” 

Archer stared in return. “I like Paul, of 
course,” he replied, being in real ignorance of 
the high place accorded his brother in the gen- 
eral estimation of St. Stephen’s. “But he’s 
just Paul, you know. Is that the river? Can 
we go down there ? ’ ’ 

“We’ve got to dress for dinner,” explained 
Bryan. “I’ll take you there to-morrow.” 

“It’s a jim-dandy river,” volunteered the boy 
introduced as Holbrook, whose merry eyes be- 
tokened a jolly disposition. “Come on, Dutch, 
we’ve got to wash up, too. ’By, Boy Blue. 
’By, Archer.” 

The other lads faded from the room, leaving 
Archer with his room-mate. For a few mo- 


AT THE NURSERY 


33 


ments they continued to examine each other 
curiously, like two puppies making acquaint- 
ance, and then settled down to business. 

‘‘ThaUs your bed,’’ began Bryan, indicating 
one of the narrow white iron frames. ‘‘And 
that’s your bureau and your closet and your 
desk. The window-seat we have together and 
I hope you brought some cushions, for I haven’t 
as many as we need.” 

‘ ‘ I guess Mother packed some, ’ ’ said Archer, 
feeling rather hazy as to what was in his trunk. 
The next minute he wished he hadn’t men- 
tioned his mother, for a sudden vision of her 
dear face blotted all the late sunshine from the 
room and made everything seem indescribably 
bare and barren. 

“And pictures, too,” went on Bryan, quite 
unconscious of this state of affairs. “We could 
use a lot more. But we’d better get ready for 
dinner. You can wash first,” he added, indi- 
cating the set-bowl in a little alcove. 

Archer choked back a sob and turned to his 
suit-case. Bryan chattered merrily on, not 
noticing his companion’s silence. 

“Do you play footer? I’m trying for the 
Lower school eleven, but lots of the fellows go 


34 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

in for running and tennis. We have dandy 
courts and the Upper school can’t play on them, 
either. Here, I’ll lend you a towel.” 

Applications of cold water and another fresh 
collar added much to Archer’s personal com- 
fort and he followed Bryan to the dining-room 
with renewed interest. The hall was full of 
chattering boys from ten to twelve or thirteen. 
All were in dark suits and most of them wore 
broad Eton collars and soft ties like Archer’s, 
but one or two of the older ones had assumed the 
standing collar and maturer cravat of boyhood. 
Bryan introduced Archer to Mr. Pomeroy, a 
tall, thin man who seemed fearsomely old to 
Archer. Later, he learned that ‘‘Pummy” was 
popularly supposed to possess a record of one 
hundred and eight years. As a matter of fact, 
he was scarcely thirty. He had keen hazel eyes, 
and a rather stem mouthy which could relax 
into a pleasant smile. He smiled at Archer 
now and said: ‘^Paul’s brother? We’re glad 
indeed to have another boy from the Arnold 
family. ’ ’ 

The dining-room contained two long tables, 
each seating twelve. Over one Mrs. Holmes 
presided and Mr. Pomeroy over the other. Ar- 


AT THE NURSERY 


35 

cher found himself at the matron’s left hand 
with Bryan next. 

The boys at his table interested him so much 
that he almost forgot to eat, though he was 
hungry and the dinner good. Directly opposite 
sat a boy so exceedingly fat that his clothes lit- 
erally creased around the folds of his plump 
person. His thick eyebrows were almost con- 
cealed between rolls of skin but had a curious 
and disconcerting trick of emerging from their 
lair in a manner that Archer found fascinating. 
This boy was George Morrison, generally 
known as ‘‘Skinny.” Beyond, sat “Fatty,” a 
youth in almost the opposite extreme of thin- 
ness. Next, sat a lad to whom Archer instantly 
felt attracted, a round-faced boy with brown 
eyes and hair, whom everybody called Tommy. 

Conversation was gay and apparently quite 
unrestrained, but Archer was unable to attach 
all the names he heard to their proper owners, 
and confined his own part in the merry talk to 
a few questions to Bryan. After dinner, the 
“Nursery” gathered in the living-room to listen 
to a short and simple evening service of prayer 
and hymn. 

“Don’t you sing, Archer? Don’t you know 


36 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

this hymnr^ asked Mrs. Holmes softly, noticing 
that he did not join in the music. 

Archer choked. Sing? He couldn^t! Why, 
he had known that evening hymn all his short 
life. It was all he could hear to hear anybody 
sing it to-night. 

‘‘We always have prayers right after din- 
ner,” explained Bryan, when the service was 
over. “The other houses have them later. 
Now, we can do what we like until eight and 
then we have to go to bed. IVe got to do my 
arithmetic because I didn’t do it this afternoon 
in school. The big fellows have an evening 
study hour, but we are supposed to do all our 
work in the schoolroom. Wouldn’t you like to 
visit Polly and Dutch?” 

Archer didn’t care about any more new ex- 
periences just then, though both “Polly” and 
“Dutch” gave him a cordial invitation. But 
before he could either accept or decline, a quick 
step sounded on the walk and Paul came in. 
His appearance had the effect of a bomb on the 
little group on the stairs. 

“Come along. Archer!” he called. “Never 
mind your cap, — you don’t need one. Good eve- 
ning, Mr. Pomeroy. I just came to take Archer 


AT THE NURSERY 


37 

over to see Dr. Hilton, if I may. He hasn^t 
been there yet.^’ 

‘‘Grlad to see you, Paul. Certainly, take 
him along, but don’t keep him late.” 

Archer gladly followed his brother into the 
soft darkness of the autumn night. 

‘‘How goes it, old chap?” asked Paul kindly. 
“Like Boy Blue?” 

‘ ‘ I guess so, ’ ’ said Archer bravely. ‘ ‘ There ’s 
a lot of it and it’s all pretty different, Paul. 
Is Dr. — Dr. Hilton very awful?” 

“Not a bit. He’s great! I admire him tre- 
mendously and I like him, too. Buck up. Imp ! 
He ’ll only keep you a minute. ’ ’ 

“Do you suppose Uncle Court told him why 
I was sent now?” begged Archer. 

Paul wanted to laugh at this question but 
realizing that it was a vital matter to the inex- 
perienced little brother, suppressed his amuse- 
ment. 

“I don’t know whether he did or didn’t, but 
it won’t make the slightest difference either 
way. You’re starting with a perfectly clean 
slate. It doesn’t matter what you did before 
you came.” 

Archer’s concern was lost in amazement at 


38 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

sight of the campus, its scattered buildings out- 
lined by lights. Shadowy forms were passing 
here and there, cheery greetings called from one 
to another, snatches of song far and near came 
in little bursts of melody. Not a few boys 
hailed Paul in passing and received responses. 
A queer mysterious feeling began to possess 
Archer. It was a great school! And it was 
his school now, as well as Paul ^s. 

They stopped at the pretty, vine-covered of- 
fice building and Paul entered a room at the 
right, evidently an ante-room, for he imme- 
diately crossed to knock at another door. 

‘‘May we come in, Dr. Hilton?’’ he asked, in 
response to an invitation to enter. “I’ve 
brought my brother.” 

Archer stared at the tall, clean-shaven man 
in clerical costume who rose to receive them and 
was struck dumb with embarrassment as he 
shook hands. 

“I’m glad to see you, Archer,” said a pleas- 
ant, low voice. “We have spoken of the time 
when we should have you here.” 

Paul looked with some amusement at the Imp. 
Never had Archer appeared more angelic ! His 
cheeks were pink with excitement and his curly 


AT THE NURSERY 


39 


yellow hair slightly rumpled. He looked just 
what he was, a thoroughly nice, well-brought-up 
little fellow whose mother was probably incon- 
solable to-night at having launched him into a 
school of big, rough boys. 

‘‘Sit down a minute. Archer,^’ said Dr. Hil- 
ton. 

“I’ll wait for you in the other room,” re- 
marked Paul, promptly disappearing. Archer, 
with a helpless glance after him, seated himself 
on the very edge of a slippery chair. Dr. Hil- 
ton did not appear to notice his embarrassment. 

“Paul tells me that you are even more musi- 
cal than he is. We ’ve a place for you right now 
in our choir. Mr. Carter plays the organ and 
is choirmaster. We are proud of our music. 
Do you play as well as sing?” 

“Yes, sir, a little,” replied Archer, respond- 
ing to the note Dr. Hilton had so skilfully 
touched. 

“We must plan to have you go into Boston 
for some of the concerts then. Your uncle 
wrote that they wished you as well as Paul to 
have musical advantages.” 

Archer’s eyes fell. What else had Uncle 
Court said? 


40 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

^‘Now, next to music, what do you like best?” 
went on Dr. Hilton. ‘^We expect all our boys 
to go in for some sport, football or baseball, 
tennis, basketball, soccer, — anything they 
choose, but it must be something. I hardly sup- 
pose you like football as well as Paul does, do 
you?” 

‘T like tennis better,” said Archer shyly. 

‘‘That’s good!” said Dr. Hilton. “There 
are several really fine players among the 
younger boys. You’ll find plenty of fellows 
ready to challenge you. Now, Archer, we 
haven’t many rules here, and we understand 
that it is sometimes bard for the boys to keep 
even those. I hope you won’t break any, but 
if you do, we expect you to tell us just bow it 
happened and then take the penalty cheerfully. 
We want to be as proud of you as we are of 
Paul.” 

Dr. Hilton, who bad talked with hundreds of 
attractive lads, was suddenly struck by the 
charming smile that lighted the little face before 
him. 

“I’m glad Paul belongs to me,” said Archer 
simply. “He’s mine more than anybody’s, 
’cept just Mother.” 


AT THE NURSERY 


41 


‘^Well, try to make Paul feel that way about 
you, too,^’ replied the principal, smiling in re- 
ply, but looking rather wonderingly at this 
small boy who certainly seemed possessed of a 
most distinct personality. “PauPs good opin- 
ion is worth having. Now, that’s all. Archer. 
Good-night. I hope you’ll be happy here and 
you will be if you do your best, and I’m sure 
you’re going to try.” 

‘‘You didn’t find the Doctor so very bad, did 
you, old chap ! ’ ’ asked Paul as the two went out 
again into the night. 

“N-no,” admitted Archer, “but I’d be scared 
of him if I’d done things I ought not to. I 
guess he could be pretty awful. May I come to 
your room with you now?” 

“There isn’t time to-night. The bell will 
ring very soon. It rings at ten minutes to 
eight, and at eight every fellow has to report in 
his house unless he has permission to be out 
later. I’ll look for you in chapel to-morrow. 
You’ll see me down in front toward the right. 
Now, there’s Clarke over there.” 

“I wish you’d wait a minute,” gasped Ar- 
cher. “I feel very queer. I don’t believe I’m 
well. ’ ’ 


42 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘‘What’s the matter? Did you eat any stuff 
on the train that you shouldn’t!” 

“Oh, no, I didn’t! It’s my — my throat, 
Paul. It ’s all queer and very choky. ’ ’ 

Paul suddenly sat down on a stone wall. 
“Oh, Archer,” he groaned, “you don’t mean to 
say you’re homesick!” 

“7 don’t know!” said Archer with a gulp. 
“Things are different and it’s so big and so 
many people. I’m only used to Mother and me 
and sometimes you. Am I homesick, Paul!” 

“It’s up to you to get a brace on yourself,” 
said Paul firmly. “Of course, everything is 
strange and it’s not like home. But you wanted 
to come and you’ll soon like it. Great Scott, 
what am I going to do!” he ended with a vague 
question of the surrounding darkness. 

“Oh, well, if that’s what it is. I’ll probably 
get over it,” said Archer philosophically. “I 
thought I was sick. I won’t make a fuss, Paul. 
Only Mother always tucks me into bed and says 
her prayers with me. Doesn’t she tuck you in, 
too, when you ’re home ! ’ ’ 

“She always comes to see me after I’ve gone 
to bed,” said Paul gently. “You must expect 
to miss Mother. I miss her, too, but the only 


AT THE NURSERY 


43 


thing is to be brave about it, Archer. And I 
think she is lonesome to-night, as well as you. 
There’s the bell! Report to Mr. Pomeroy that 
you’ve come in. Now, Archer, if you’re going 
to be homesick, I’ll — I’ll come over and spank 
you!” he ended in desperation. 

‘^That would be pretty funny,” said Archer, 
laughing, but still with an evident lump in his 
throat. ‘T guess I won’t mind so much when 
it isn’t dark. Good-night, Paul.” 

Paul waited until the slender little figure van- 
ished into the yawning doorway of the Nursery 
and then walked briskly toward Foster. Not 
during prayers nor when he and Alex settled 
themselves for the study hour following, did a 
puzzled expression leave his face. 

‘‘Archer homesick?” asked Alex, looking up 
at length from a Latin dictionary. 

Paul’s level eyes met his across the table. 
“How did you guess?” 

“Mind-reading,” said Alex gravely. “Poor 
little beggar ! I know how he feels. ” 

“I guess it’s ‘poor Mother’ too,” said Paul, 
half -laughing. “Archer is such a little chap 
after all, and he’s used to her gentle ways and 
to being-petted. It is hard. The worst of it is 


44 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

that Mother will he horrified at the things hedl 
learn, not realizing that he’s got to learn them 
before he can get much farther. Yes, it’s de- 
cidedly ‘poor Mother’ I” 


CHAPTER IV 

INTRODUCING PATSY CHASE 

Paul’s intention was of the best. He really 
meant to look after his little brother’s happi- 
ness, but as it chanced, Paul was having 
troubles of his own. He saw Archer’s curly 
head across the chapel next morning and smiled 
a greeting, but when the boys swarmed out and 
scattered for recitations, he lost sight of his 
brother and did not find him during the few 
moments at his disposal. Paul was carrying a 
heavy schedule and trying to do such a number 
of outside things that time and strength were 
both taxed to the utmost. He had no spare 
moments until he came in after football practice 
that afternoon. Alex came up to dress at the 
same time and soon noticed his room-mate’s 
preoccupation. 

‘‘What’s up?” he inquired briefly, sure of an 
answer, for he and Paul had built their friend- 
ship on a firm foundation and were given to 
sharing each other’s burdens. 

45 


46 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘‘Patterson!’’ commented Paul as concisely. 

Alex nodded. “I was afraid you’d have 
trouble with him. He’s not got over your win- 
ning out as captain of the team last fall.” 

“I wish he hadn’t chosen to come out this 
year,” said Paul thoughtfully. “He took the 
election all right at the time and even con- 
gratulated me. Like a ninny, I took it for 
granted things would go smoothly. And in a 
way they do. I can ^t put my finger on a single 
thing he does, only the team doesn’t get together 
and I feel sure it’s due to Patterson.” 

“Patterson plays center, doesn’t he? Can’t 
you put him on the second eleven?” 

Paul stared. “But I can’t fire a fellow 
when there’s nothing definite he does.” 

“Keep your eye peeled and I reckon you’ll 
find a reason,” observed Alex laconically. 

“Won’t do. Patterson has a certain follow- 
ing and there would be the biggest kind of a 
row. All the same, I would drop him and I will, 
if he actually does anything. But it is dis- 
couraging. There’s good stuff in that team, 
but play together they will not! Jacobs has 
got it in for Nichols, and Penrose hates Church 
like poison, and they won’t drop their private 


INTRODUCING PATSY CHASE 47 

grudges and play for the school. Patterson 
hangs hack and though he obeys orders, he does 
it in a way that makes me want to lick him.” 

‘‘Doesn’t Bridges help out?” 

“Bridges says it’s my own business to keep 
discipline on the team — ^he’s the coach. And 
he’s right. It is up to the captain. I’ve about 
made up my mind to tell the fellows what I 
think of them.” 

“Good idea! I would,” said Alex cordially. 
“You’ll have to sooner or later and you might 
as well do it and have it over. As for Patter- 
son, I know something of him on the board of 
the ‘Inkstand’ and he’s a fellow you want to 
watch. ’ ’ 

“I’ve always hated his slick ways,” grum- 
bled Paul. “Queer how he can sling the but- 
ter, though. I’ll bet there’s hardly a chap who 
stands more in with the faculty. Thankful he 
doesn’t room in Foster. By the way, some- 
body told me that Patterson is going in for the 
Chase prize.” 

“Glad he didn’t compete last year. Pat- 
terson can sling the ink as well as soft soap. 
I wouldn’t have had such a walkover. Paul, I 
want you to get it this time.” 


48 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘‘Well, I want it, — ^largely to win out again 
from Patterson,’’ said Paul frankly. ‘‘Say, I 
haven’t seen that kid brother of mine since 
chapel.” 

“Archer’s all right. I went past Clarke and 
saw him playing tennis with Boy Blue, and put- 
ting up a good game, too. Archer’s a cute 
kid.” 

“Yes, he is that,” admitted Paul. “I sup- 
pose he’ll be as tough as they make them in an- 
other six months. But after that stage, he’ll 
amount to something.” 

“He’s a friendly little chap,” went on Alex. 
‘ ‘ The fellows seem to like him, so I reckon you 
needn’t worry.” 

“Can’t see him this evening with that debate 
on,” said Paul. “I must make time to look 
him up to-morrow.” 

Archer was in fact “all right,” and after that 
first attack of homesickness had not felt lonely. 
But, as it chanced, Paul did not exchange more 
than a few words with him until Saturday after- 
noon. As he and Alex came from their last 
recitation of the morning, they met Archer in 
the path to Foster. 


INTRODUCING PATSY CHASE 49 

Hello there called Paul cheerily. ^^How 
goes itr’ 

‘^Pretty well, I guess, replied Archer. 
‘‘Mayn’t I come with you this afternoon?” 

“Why I’m going to play footer. Come down 
and watch if you like.” 

Archer wasn’t particularly interested in foot- 
ball, but he thought he should like to see Paul 
play. 

“Perhaps I could come to your room after 
dinner?” he suggested politely. 

‘ ‘ Sure ! Come as early as you can. ’ ’ 

Archer lingered. “May I bring a friend?” 
he inquired. 

Paul hesitated. He did not care to have the 
Nursery kids overrun his always popular study, 
but it was clearly his duty to see what kind of 
chaps Archer got in with. “Who’s your 
friend?” he inquired. 

“His name is Patsy Chase. I like him very 
much and I want you to meet him.” 

“Chase? Chase?” queried Paul. “I don’t 
know any kid of that name. Well, bring him 
along.” 

Football went better that afternoon. The 


50 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

second eleven gave tlie first a contest exciting 
enough to down private prejudices and bring 
about something nearer team work than had 
previously been the case. Paul caught sight of 
Archer among the spectators, watching him 
with wide open and horrified blue eyes. To- 
ward the end of the practice period, a sudden 
downpour of rain scattered the onlookers and 
the first eleven won a muddy but unwitnessed 
triumph. 

The ‘‘crowd’’ had collected in Study 18 that 
evening, half a dozen good cronies, all lads of 
the fifth or sixth form. Alex had built a fire 
in the small grate and marshmallows were be- 
ing toasted. Close-drawn curtains emphasized 
the contrast between the rain outside and the 
pleasant warmth and light within. In the midst 
of the festivities came a knock. 

“Come in!” called Alex. 

The door opened to admit Archer’s yellow 
head. Clad in a dripping “slicker” he stood 
on the threshold, somewhat abashed at sight of 
the room full of boys. 

“Oh, come in, we’re glad to see you!” said 
Alex cordially, and Paul peered through the 
assemblage from his seat on the hearth-rug. 


INTRODUCING PATSY CHASE 51 

‘Ts that you, Imp? Thought it would he too 
rainy. Just dump your slicker outside.” 

Archer complied and came in with the easy 
grace that distinguished his every motion. 

‘‘Here^s a cushion to sit on, old chap,” said 
Paul. ‘^This is my brother, fellows. Archer, 
this is the crowd. You’ll have to sort them out 
for yourself.” 

Archer smiled shyly at the ‘‘crowd” and the 
crowd to a man returned the greeting. They 
made way for him to reach the fire and pro- 
vided him with a stick and a marshmallow. He 
subsided silently upon a sofa pillow in the 
shadow of the fireplace, listening quietly to the 
talk that went on. It was of athletics and mat- 
ters of general school interest he knew little 
about, but it was Paul’s world. Moreover, 
Archer liked men and big boys. As a rule, he 
found them friendly. He sat on the cushion, 
toasting and eating marshmallows, and occa- 
sionally glancing at the side pocket of his coat, 
which seemed to be slightly agitated. 

“Too hot?” asked Alex, leaning from behind 
him. “Come, perch on the arm of my chair.” 

“It’s not too hot for me,” observed Archer, 
but as he spoke, he withdrew from the fire. 


52 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘^Thought you were going to bring a friend,’’ 
said Paul suddenly, as his brother’s movement 
recalled him to mind. 

‘T brought him,” replied Archer. 

‘^You did? Where is he? Have you left 
him outside all this time? Pops, open that 
door, will you ? Why didn ’t you bring him in ? ” 

‘T did,” said Archer, producing from his 
pocket a small and fluffy kitten in a high state 
of indignation. ^^This is Patsy Chase.” 

A roar went up from the crowd and the 
frightened kitten clawed its way up Archer’s 
coat to a refuge under his collar. 

Archer, you scamp, where did you swipe 
that little cat?” demanded Paul as the merri- 
ment subsided. 

didn’t swipe him. He belongs to me.” 

‘‘What do you mean?” asked the amused 
Alex. “Does Mrs. Holmes let you have him?” 

‘ ‘ Of course she does, ’ ’ replied Archer. ‘ ‘ She 
likes my friend. All the fellows like him. 
There is be an extra pint of milk every day 
for him.” 

“Where did you unearth him?” inquired 
Preston Lawrence, otherwise known as ‘ ‘ Pops. ’ ’ 

“Down that street where there are so many 



“This is Patsy Chase.”— P a^e 52 










4 "■ '^ 

f 'f* 

r» z -.; 


INTRODUCING PATSY CHASE 53 

big white houses. There is one that has a lovely 
garden. The lady who lives there gave him 
to me. Mrs. Holmes says she is Madam Chase, 
and so I named him Paderewski Chase, Patsy 
for short.’’ 

Archer’s simple statement caused a distinct 
sensation. Madam Chase!” gasped more 
than one surprised voice. 

‘‘Archer, what fresh thing have you been 
up to?” demanded Paul. “Madam Chase, of 
all people ! How did she happen to give it to 
you?” 

“I was walking by the house and the kitten 
was inside the garden,” explained Archer. 
“I spoke to it, and it came out to speak with me. 
Then it wouldn’t go back. So I opened the gate 
and took it in. I was going to leave it, but I 
saw some flowers I never saw before so I 
stopped to look at them, and then I looked at all 
the flowers. By and by I met an old lady with 
very white hair and I asked her what the things 
were that looked like pansies but weren’t. She 
told me. They are violas and they have faces 
like pansies, but spurs like violets. We talked 
quite a while and walked about the garden. 
She asked me to come into the house, so I did 


54 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

and we talked about music. She has a beauti- 
ful grand piano. She let me play on it and I 
sang for her. Then she said I might have the 
kitten if Mrs. Holmes would let me. And she 
has invited me to come and have tea with her 
to-morrow. ’ ’ 

The silence that attended this simple tale was 
marked and flattering. Madam Chase, for 
whose son the gymnasium and library were 
memorials, whose generosity provided the prize 
of which Paul had been speaking, but who 
never set foot inside the school buildings and 
who was pophlarly reported to be unable to en- 
dure the sight of any boy, particularly small 
ones! 

Archer Arnold!’^ said Pops solemnly. 
‘‘Without doubt, you are the original and only 
eighth wonder of the world ! ’ ^ 

“What are you going to do nextT^ inquired 
Paul. “Madam Chase and Mrs. Hohnes and 
a kitten at Clarke ! What have you done with 
Pomeroy?^’ 

“I didn’t think I was going to like him,” 
Archer replied calmly. “There’s a scuttle 
place where you can go up to the roof, so 
Bryan and I went through to see what was be- 


INTRODUCING PATSY CHASE 55 

yond. Mr. Pomeroy came up after us and at 
first he felt quite excited, but when he saw what 
a nice flat place it was, he rather liked it him- 
self, and he let us all go up last night. It has 
a railing, you know, and we stayed up there and 
the stars came overhead and it was like a pirate 
ship. But we mustn’t go up unless he goes 
with us.” 

“You’ll do!” laughed Pops above the gen- 
eral amusement. “Paul, why didn’t you tell 
us what you were springing on usi Will you 
sing for us. Archer? Somebody get a guitar.” 

“Yes, go ahead. Imp,” said Paul. “Sing 
them the ‘ Last Chantey. ’ ” 

Archer hesitated. He could scarcely remem- 
ber the time when he began to sing in the boy 
choir at home, but singing for a room full of 
strange fellows was different. Still, he would 
do anything for Paul. He shyly took the guitar 
thrust upon him and touched its vibrant 
strings. 

<^Thus said the Lord in the vault above the cherubim, 
Calling to the angels and souls in their degree, 

^Lol earth hath passed away in the smoke of Judgment 
Day, 

That Our word may be established, shall We gather up the 
seaf ” 


I 


56 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

The room was breathlessly still. Only 
Patsy, wandering afield, clawed his way up a 
trouser-leg and was absently assisted and 
petted by a big hand more used to wielding a 
bat. Archer’s voice was a clear, true soprano, 
as pure and fresh as a bird song. It had been 
very carefully trained by a choirmaster who 
knew what an unusual treasure he was han- 
dling. Steps paused outside Paul’s room and 
the door was noiselessly unlatched. 

^^Then said the Angel of the Off-shore Wind,” 

came the sweet notes. Study doors across the 
hall opened and soft footsteps emerged. Heads 
appeared in the doorway of Study 18. Archer 
sang on unconsciously. 

“And we drowsed the long tides idle, till Thy trumpets 
tore the sea,” 

he went on amid the perfect silence reigning 
throughout the whole second floor of Foster. 
As the last clear notes died away, a roar of ap- 
plause went up that fairly frightened Archer 
and for the first time made him aware of the 
size of his audience. With a startled glance at 
Paul, he- suddenly withdrew into the darkness 
of the comer. 


INTRODUCING PATSY CHASE 57 

The boys had the sense to appreciate Ar- 
cher’s sensitive shyness and the kindness not to 
ask him to sing again, though all wanted to 
hear him. With true delicacy, they only made 
laughing and merry remarks of thanks, and 
presently drifted away, leaving the occupants 
of Study 18 alone. Not until they were gone, 
did Archer emerge from the shadow of the 
curtain. 

‘Tmp, you’re a brick!” said Paul kindly. 
‘‘That was good of you and the fellows liked 
you for it. But come, tell me what you’ve done 
with yourself all the week, besides bewitching 
Madam Chase and annexing Patsy?” 

Archer looked half doubtfully toward Alex, 
whose glasses were bent upon him across the 
table. 

“Oh, nothing much,” he explained. “I 
played tennis quite a little with Boy Blue and 
Tommy. I like Tommy. And I went into the 
chapel when I heard the organ. I like the man 
who plays it.” 

“Mr. Carter? Did you scrape acquaintance 
with him?” 

“I went to hear him play,* and of course we 
spoke to each other,” said Archer candidly. 


58 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘T want to play the organ, too, but he says my 
hands aren’t big enough. He is going to give 
me a piano lesson on Monday and I am to be in 
the choir to-morrow. And every Wednesday 
afternoon there will be an organ recital at five 
o’clock. I shall go to hear them.” 

Archer had edged nearer and nearer his 
brother, and at the last sentence, insinuated 
his small person within Paul’s arm. Paul 
looked sheepishly at Alex, but met by a wholly 
approving and uncritical smile, did not repulse 
the invader. 

^‘And how do you like Boy BlueP’ he asked. 

Bryan is pretty funny,” laughed Archer. 
‘‘He had the toothache this afternoon and he 
went to bed and said he was dying. We all 
stood around to see him dO' it, but Skinny ran 
and told Mrs. Hohnes and she came flying up- 
stairs. When she found he wasn’t truly dying, 
she made him get straight up and dress and 
took him down to the village to the dentist. 
Bryan is mad with Skinny and says he’ll teach 
him to butt into his death-bed again. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Skinny should certainly have his head 
punched,” said Alex gravely. “How go the 
lessons. Kid?” 


INTRODUCING PATSY CHASE 59 

“I think they^re easy/^ said Archer. ‘T 
had all my examples right every day so far. 
What’s that paper there?” 

‘‘My geometry,” replied Paul. 

“It looks something fierce!” commented 
Archer frankly. “I wouldn’t like that.” 

“Been homesick again?” inquired his 
brother. 

“I haven’t told anybody if I was. Tommy 
says he was so homesick when he came that Mrs. 
Holmes had to hold his hand for three nights 
until he went to sleep. That was pretty bad!” 

“Yes, that was,” agreed Paul. “Archer, 
you ought to go, for the ten-minute bell will 
ring right away. It was dandy of you to sing 
for the crowd. Come again, any time you can. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘Yes, do, ’ ’ said Alex. “ I ’m a forlorn widow 
when Paul is playing ball. Come and see me, 
Archer, and bring Patsy Chase with you.” 


CHAPTEE V 

THE VOYAGE OF THE LUCY 

‘‘Lower school pupils are forbidden to use 
canoes unless accompanied by a master or by 
an approved member of the Upper school. 
Boys in Lower school who have passed the 
swimming test may use boats. Bounds on the 
river are Foster’s Mills, downstream, and the 
railroad bridge, upstream.” 

Archer and Boy Blue laboriously spelled out 
this notice that lovely October afternoon. It 
hung conspicuously in the boat-house, and fur- 
ther to encourage youth to avoid temptation, 
Dick, a grizzled old Scotchman, had charge of 
the place and exercised a shrewd inspection 
over ^1 boats and canoes that went out. 

“And have ye passed the test?” he inquired 
of the two who applied for the “little boat with 
the blue oars.” “Then ye’ll be having your 
names on this list I’m keeping. Arnold, A., 
Bellew, B. Quite right. Ye may tak’ the wee 
boatie. Now, remember the bounds. Ye can 
row, of course?” 


60 


THE VOYAGE OF THE LUCY 6i 

He unfastened the padlock of the Lucy and 
the two scrambled delightedly in. To be styled 
a “wee boatie’’ transformed the Lucy into a 
fairy shallop, conveying gallant adventurers to 
a land of romance. She really was a steady old 
tub, as canny Dick very well knew, used to being 
banged into banks and scraped over stones in 
the shallow river. Side by side each took an 
oar and the Lucy naturally headed downstream. 

“This is ’most as much fun as a canoe,” said 
Bryan, charmed with the way the banks were 
gliding past. “And there weren’t any canoes 
left. The Tipper school had pigged every one 
of them.” 

“Paul’s was there,” replied Archer, “but 
it’s chained in the boat-house and he keeps the 
key. He said he’d take me on Sunday after 
dinner. You can come, too.” 

“Why isn’t he out this afternoon?” asked 
Bryan. “Oh, they are playing footer, of 
course. Pull your oar. Archer. We’re going 
to bunt into the shore.” 

Archer pulled vigorously; the Lucy sheered 
away from the bank and headed straight across 
the river for a canoe tied under over-hanging 
trees. Its occupants, one sprawled flat in the 


62 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


bottom, the other sitting in the bow, were busily 
engaged in reading and eating peanuts. 

‘‘Hey, you kids!’^ exclaimed the boy in the 
bow. “Pull your starboard oar. We’re no ar- 
mored cruiser!” 

Bryan did his best but the current had the 
Lucy in its grasp. Seizing a paddle, one occu- 
pant of the canoe easily fended them otf. The 
boat came harmlessly alongside. 

“I’m very sorry. Please excuse us 1 ” gasped 
Archer, his eyes big with dismay. 

“You’re little Gabriel, aren’t you! Heard 
you sing last Sunday.” 

Archer stared. He did not know that the 
Upper school had promptly rechristened him. 

“I’m Archer Arnold,” he said shyly. 

Both big boys grinned. “Oh, yes, Gabriel, 
we know all about you,” said the one in the 
bow. “Haven’t you two got more than you 
can manage? Think not? Well, have a pea- 
nut and quit jamming us ashore. So long!” 

The speaker tossed a handful of nuts into 
the boat, gave the Lucy a vigorous shove, and 
with a friendly nod returned to his book. 

“What is the matter with this old boat?” 
asked Bryan as the Lucy continued her course 


THE VOYAGE OF THE LUCY 63 

in a strange sidewise manner. believe it’ll 
be better to take turns rowing and then one of us 
can steer.” 

Archer agreed, for they bad almost tele- 
scoped another stationary canoe. No peanuts 
came their way this time, only graphic com- 
ments on their oarsmanship. 

‘T’ll move to the stern,” he said. ‘‘Oh, Boy 
Blue, there’s the smallest turtle baby of all! 
I’Ve got to have it!” 

The infant turtle did not know enough to 
seek safety farther down in the water; it was 
moving almost on the surface. Nearly going 
overboard in his efforts. Archer secured the 
coveted prize. It was indeed the youngest 
baby of the family, hardly larger than a five- 
cent piece. Bryan dropped his oars to share 
Archer’s glee. 

“Let’s start an aquarium,” he proposed. 
“We can get pollywogs — ” 

“Ship ahoy! Oh, you kids! Do you want 
the whole river?” 

Two canoes with six gay big boys swept past, 
splashing water in every direction and rock- 
ing from gunwale to gunwale. 

“It seems to me this boat takes up a great 


64 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

deal of room,’’ said Archer patiently. Their 
attempt to clear the channel had again bumped 
them into the bank. 

‘‘These oars weigh a good deal,” sighed 
Bryan, looking at his small hands. “Let’s 
drift for a while and plan the aquarium. I 
guess Mrs. Holmes will let us have a big glass 
jar. I forgot. There won’t be pollywogs this 
time of year.” 

“There’ll be little fishes, though,” said 
Archer. “Let’s watch for a place where it’s 
sandy and shallow and perhaps we can catch 
some. There’s a tin can here in the locker.” 

Considerable water had slipped under the 
Lucy^s keel before a desirable fishing ground 
appeared. At one side, the river broadened 
into a wide sunny bayou, showing a golden 
sandy bottom. Once in this sheltered harbor 
the boat was wholly out of the current and 
fioated motionless in the shallow water. To the 
delight of both boys, minnows were present in 
shoals. 

“But if we use the tin can to catch ’em, 
what’ll we put ’em ini” demanded Bryan. 

“We’ll catch ’em with our handkerchiefs,” 
decided Archer, promptly plunging his under 


THE VOYAGE OF THE LUCY 65 

water. Before it the little fish fled in alarm. 
This would never answer. 

Archer had no cap hut Bryan sacrificed a 
perfectly new one to the cause of science. At 
the end of an hour, both boys were splashed 
and muddy and the tin can contained three 
hard-caught minnows besides the little turtle. 

‘Tt must be ’most time to go back,” said 
Archer. 

Bryan consulted a dollar watch, the pride of 
his heart. It ticked like an alarm clock, its 
works were apparently completely detached 
from its case, but it usually indicated some- 
where near the correct time. 

‘^Five o’clock. But we’re not very far away 
because we haven’t seen the mill.” 

‘^No canoes have passed for a long time,” 
said Archer. ‘T think we’d better start. I’ll 
row going back.” 

Archer applied himself energetically to the 
oars and Bryan steered, one eye fixed on the 
tin can. At the end of ten minutes they were 
still in sight of the fishing ground. 

‘T’ll row, too,” said Bryan. ‘Tf there 
aren’t any canoes to bump into, I guess we can 
do it.” 


66 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


With two at the oars, the Lucy made a 
little better progress, but oh, how slowly the 
banks edged past! 

“I’ve been seeing that maple for ever so 
long,” remarked Archer between determined 
strokes. ‘ ‘ What time is it now ? ’ ’ 

“Quarter to six,” Bryan replied, looking as 
well at the blisters on his hot little palms. 

Archer’s hands were blistered also, his arms 
and shoulders ached, but he was too game to 
give up. He pulled steadily on. 

“Let’s stop and rest a minute,” suggested 
Bryan as the Lucy in rounding a curve, swung 
close to the bank. “I’ll hold on by this 
branch. ’ ’ 

Archer agreed. He was watching a slender 
green canoe in the distance, coming easily and 
so quickly up-stream. Its bow cleared the 
water, for it had but one occupant, a tall, pow- 
erfully built fellow of eighteen. As he ap- 
proached the boat he scanned it curiously. 
From afar he had been observing its difficult 
progress and now he looked at the wet, weary 
small boys. One was a dark-haired, jolly little 
fellow he had seen before; the other was the 
new little chap with the topping voice. 


THE VOYAGE OF THE LUCY 67 

‘‘You kids are Vay off bounds/^ be re- 
marked as be came abreast. 

Tbe two looked at each other. “Wby, we 
thought a mill was bounds/’ explained Archer. 

“You’re a mile below the mill,” replied the 
older boy, holding his canoe stationary in the 
middle of the stream. 

“We are? We didn’t see any mill,” said 
Bryan. 

“Didn’t you see a tumble-down board 
shanty on the left bank of the river? That 
was it.” 

“I thought a mill was a big brick building,” 
said Archer. His grieved and astonished ex- 
pression would have moved a stone image to 
pity. 

The older boy laughed. “This was a saw- 
mill and only part of it is left. You’re a long 
way down the river and the current is strong 
to-day. Hang on tight to that branch and 
wait a minute.” 

With two strokes the canoe came alongside. 
Its occupant laid down his paddle, pulled the 
painter from the bow and stepped into the boat, 
permitting the canoe to float astern. He tied 
the rope to the Lucy^s thwart. 


68 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


‘‘Give me the oars and one of you move up 
in the how. You steer/’ he added, indicating 
Archer. 

“Oh, thank you!” said Archer gratefully. 
“It’s pretty hard work.’| 

“It’s awfully good of you, Patterson,” said 
Bryan shyly. He recognized their rescuer, 
knew him for a sixth-form boy far removed 
from the orbit of the Nursery. 

“This is a beastly old tub, anyway,” replied 
Patterson, with one stroke jerking the Lucy 
half across the river. “Ask next time for the 
Cora or the Belle, They are both lighter and 
easier to handle.” 

Archer subsided in the stem, his weary little 
body sinking into relaxed lines. Bryan had the 
aquarium in charge so he had nothing on his 
mind but the steering-ropes. Their progress 
now was a very different matter as under Pat- 
terson’s strong arm^^he Lucy fairly flew up- 
stream. / 

There was not much conversation on the way, 
for Bryan was too shy and Archer too tired to 
make friendly advances. Nor did either notice 
that the gaze of the older boy returned again 
and again to Archer. 


THE VOYAGE OF THE LUCY 69 

‘‘You’re Arnold’s little brother, I believe,” 
he remarked as they reached the last bend of 
the river. “What’s your name?” 

Archer told him. “Do you know Paul?” he 
asked eagerly, his charming smile lighting his 
face. 

“Yes,” said the oarsman rather curtly. His 
eyes were still fixed, with a curious intensity, 
on Archer. “What are you going to do with 
that turtle?” he inquired, indicating the small 
specimen that Archer was lovingly regarding. 

“Keep him in a glass jar. I shall name him 
Twofer, he’s so tiny. ‘Two for five,’ you 
know. ” 

Patterson laughed. “My little sister has an 
aquarium. You want some snails in it. They 
eat up the garbage and keep the Y^ter clean. 
You can get them in the shallows' upstream a 
little way.” 

“Oh, I’ll go for them some day,’^ said Archer. 
“Paul said he’d take me out in his canoe next 
Sunday. Perhaps we can get them then. I’m 
glad you know Paul, but everybody seems to.” 

Across the handsome, rather sullen face of 
the older boy came an odd look. He did not 
speak immediately. 


70 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

^^When you go out again, better row up- 
stream,’^ be said at length. ‘‘Then you have 
the easy work last, when you’re feeling fagged. 
And don’t get this old battle-ship palmed off 
on you. Some of the larger boats are easier to 
row. ’ ’ 

As he concluded, the Lucy reached the pier. 
Safe on shore. Archer turned to their benefac- 
tor. 

‘‘Thank you so very much,” he said, otfering 
his hand with the quaint politeness that came 
so naturally to him. 

Patterson stared for a second, then took the 
extended hand and smiled. 

“You’re not exactly what I’d expect Ar- 
nold’s brother to be,” he said rather gruffly. 
“Glad I came across you. Better hustle now, 
or you’ll be late for dinner.” 


CHAPTEE VI 


ON THE GRIDIRON 

When Paul reached the gridiron that same 
Saturday afternoon, a boy promptly strolled up 
with a note. Tearing it open, he saw Patter- 
son’s signature and above it the bald statement 
that he was unable to attend practice. 

‘^Is he ill!” asked Paul, turning sharply 
upon the messenger. 

^‘Well, — I don’t know!” said Adams frankly. 
He was one of the younger boys in the Upper 
school with whom Patterson was rather 
friendly in a patronizing way. The note had 
been given him as he crossed the campus and 
while he very well knew that the book and 
towel Patterson carried indicated an after- 
noon to be spent on and in the river, still Pat- 
terson really might not be feeling up to foot- 
ball. 

Giving Adams a curt nod of dismissal, Paul 
crushed the note into a pocket. Outwardly he 
was perfectly calm but inwardly was far from 
71 


72 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

feeling so. Patterson’s absence meant putting 
Gay in at center and playing Curtis on the sec- 
ond eleven and neither was as good a man. 
Nor did he believe that any real excuse kept 
Patterson away. An unexplained absence could 
have been dealt with, but Patterson had taken 
pains to observe the letter of the law and tell 
him beforehand. This was signal practice, too, 
when it was very important that all should be 
present. 

Paul turned to the expectant players. ‘ ^ Gay, 
go in at center. Curtis, play center on the 
scrub. Fitzy, you’ll take the ball. Now 
then!” 

For half an hour the signal work went on, 
but not smoothly. Paul was patient, — some- 
how Patterson’s absence was conducive to 
that — and tried both joking and sarcasm with 
very little effect. The fellows either couldn’t 
or wouldn’t play to the best advantage. 

^‘Wake up, Jacobs!” he finally snapped. 
‘‘The rising bell rang some time ago! Great 
Scott, man, that ball ought to be on their 
twenty-yard line by now! What’s got you? 
Infantile paralysis?” 

Jacobs shrugged his shoulders. Time was 


ON THE GRIDIRON 


73 

required for a signal to penetrate his rather 
sluggish brain. Once comprehended, he had 
done his best. 

^‘Look here, fellows T’ said Paul resolutely. 

There are a few things I’m going to tell you 
and tell you right now. At this rate, we might 
as well get a red worsted ball and play kinder- 
garten. We haven’t the team we had last year, 
— ^we all know that. But there are enough ex- 
perienced men left so that we ought to do bet- 
ter than we are doing. From this exhibition 
just now, any girls’ boarding-school could 
knock us out!” 

Faint grins from the gathered players. 

^^The trouble is that you aren’t playing to- 
gether. So far, it’s everybody for himself. 
The way to win and the only way to win is to 
play as a unit, not as individuals. It oughtn’t 
to matter a continental to anybody who gets 
the ball or who kicks the goal, ptrovided some- 
body gets it and somebody kicks it. It isn’t 
for yourself, — it’s for the school! 

‘^They say we don’t stand any chance against 
either Sudbury o-r Faulkner. We do stand the 
chance of showing that we can fight for our 
school and do our best even though we are up 


74 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

against a stronger team. We shall lose if we 
keep on as we are going, but it will be because 
we choose to lose, because we lost those games 
here on our own gridiron before we ever met up 
with either academy. Well lose because some 
of you can’t sink your own private feelings. 
You’ve a grudge against somebody or you think 
you ought to have a better chance. You 
haven’t a right to think one single thought of 
yourselves, only think for the school! Have 
you been doing that? You know you haven’t! 
It takes brains to play football and some of you 
are just dragging great hulking bodies around 
the field. You can’t win a game entirely with 
your legs. Shall we lie down without even 
trying? Speak up, somebody!” 

Only a confused murmur came from the play- 
ers, beginning to look abashed and sheepish. 

^T’d as soon play with a herd of cows !” said 
Paul impatiently. “They at least know their 
leader and are willing to follow.” 

“Oh, go easy, Paul!” protested one or two. 
“We don’t deserve that.’’ 

“I have been easy!” retorted the captain. 
“It isn’t the word any longer. On October 
thirty-first we play Sudbury. On November 


ON THE GRIDIRON 


75 


seventh we play Faulkner. This is the eight- 
eenth. You can draw your own conclusions. 
Now, once for all, will you make an effort to 
get together and play? Play not for your- 
selves, not for your coach, not for your captain, 
but for St. Stephen’s!’’ 

Paul had at last succeeded in stirring the 
boys to shame. They cheered him, and cheered 
as though they meant it. 

‘‘Thanks!” he said briefly. “Now we’ll 
buck up and practice the forward pass.” 

As the players scattered, Paul saw Mr. 
Bridges, the coach, standing behind him. 
“Will you take the play, sir?” he inquired, his 
color still high. 

“No, go ahead,” replied the coach. “Let’s 
see how they work after that.” 

Paul gave him a second glance but read on 
his face neither approval nor condemnation. 
The teams were getting into position, good- 
naturedly, their imaginations tickled by Paul’s 
metaphors. 

“Lansing, you playful cow, take your horns 
out of me back!” “Whisk your tail, Jacobs, 
and keep the mosquitoes away. ” “ Oh, but isn’t 
Gay the giddy calf ! ” “ Where ’s my red ball ? ’ ’ 


76 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘ ‘ Moo ! moo ! Show the ladies how beautifully 
you can bleat ! ’ ’ “ Oh, you great hulking brute ! ’ ^ 
Sharp upon their jokes came the signal and 
the teams sprang into action. To Paul’s in- 
tense gratification they played with a different 
spirit, galvanized for once into concerted action. 
Again and again the lines flung themselves 
upon each other, this time with the real fighting 
blood. Even Mr. Bridges caught the infec- 
tion, coached, criticised, backed up Paul’s 
concise orders. The minutes passed unnoted. 
“Time!” called Mr. Bridges at last. 

The panting players stopped, disentangled 
themselves into individual persons and looked 
at Paul. 

“Fellows, that was some stuff!” he said ex- 
ultantly. “Good work! That had the ginger 
in it ! I knew you could do it. J ust keep it up 
and we’ll show them what’s what! Practice 
dismissed until Monday.” 

“Paul’s pleased with his cows,” said the 
irrepressible Lansing, seizing his sweater. 
“Didn’t we do the giddy gambols though? Me 
for a swim and grub ! ’ ’ 

He dashed off the field, singing at the top of 
his voice. 


ON THE GRIDIRON 


77 


never saw a purple cow; 

I never thought to see one. 

But if Paul wants a violet cow, 

Of course, I’ll gladly be one!” 

St. Stephen’s possessed no proper track- 
house. The teams used the lockers and showers 
in the basement of the gymnasium, or kept their 
football togs in their rooms. Paul usually 
dressed in the gym, but to-night, knowing it was 
late, and that there would be more than enough 
boys to use those showers, he followed Lansing 
toward Foster. Most of the fellows would be 
ready for dinner and he could get his bath more 
quickly. 

^^Phil, you cheerful idiot, wait for me!” he 
called. 

Lansing turned, still laughing. He was a 
tall, sinewy lad with a merry face. Dancing 
backward before Paul, he repeated his impro- 
vised song. 

‘^You will be purple if you continue that 
long!” laughed Paul, as he finally got an arm 
around Lansing’s neck. 

Finis! Continued in our next,” replied 
Lansing promptly. ‘‘That was the talk, old 
chap. Stirred ’em up like a yeast-cake. I only 
wish Patterson had been there to hear.” 


78 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

first, I did, too. Then when the fellows 
really did so well, I was glad he wasn’t.’’ 

Where was he anyway?” asked Lansing. 

‘^Search me!” replied Paul. ‘T’m going to 
call on him this evening and I want you to go 
with me. ’ ’ 

Lansing stopped short, then whistled. 
dark light begins to dawn upon me. Of course 
you must inquire for his health. Yes, I’ll go 
along to carry away the remai:^s.” 

Patterson had just reached his room after 
dinner when there was a knock at his door. In 
response to his hail, it opened to disclose Paul 
Arnold and Phil Lansing. 

Good-evening,” said the captain. ‘T came 
to see if you were used up or why you didn’t 
come to practice. It was important on account 
of the signals, and I was sorry to have any one 
absent. ’ ’ 

Paul spoke pleasantly, for there had been no 
open breach in their relations. Patterson did 
not ask his visitors to come in. 

‘‘My note explained itself,” he said rather 
stiffly. “I wasn’t up to practice to-day. As 
for the signals, I know them.” 

“Yes, hut one needs to put them into play with 


ON THE GRIDIRON 


79 

the team,’’ said Paul. hope you won’t cut 
again ; it ’s a serious matter when the time is so 
short and we have so much to do.” 

Patterson made no reply and Lansing looked 
up. “You missed a lot to-day,” he drawled. 
“Cap got up on his ear and made a speech. 
Then the fellows played ball. Real ball, you 
know.” 

“It is a pity to have missed that,” observed 
Patterson dryly. 

Paul flushed. “Come along, Phil,” he said 
abruptly. “Practice is Monday at four as 
usual. Please be there. Good-night.” 

“Let me go back and slay him!” protested 
Lansing as the door again closed. “Of all the 
cheek! Old bonehead! Paul, why don’t you 
fire him?” 

“Because he is the best center we have and 
the school needs him. Do you think after my fine 
speeches this afternoon about sinking the in- 
dividual, I can put him off the team just because 
personally we don’t jibe?” 

Phil suddenly became serious. “But that 
isn’t all,” he protested. “He’s a knocker! 
He sets the fellows against you. Oh, not in 
words but he does it just the same. And he 


8o ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


croaks the live-long time about its being no use 
because we’ll be so badly beaten. ” 

‘‘Tell me some news,” retorted Paul. 

“And see bow the fellows played when he 
wasn’t there to-day.” 

Paul suddenly stopped. His hands on Phil’s 
shoulders, he pushed him against the wall they 
were passing. 

“Do you really think Bridges would back me 
up if I fired Patterson? As things stand, I 
mean. Honest, now ? ’ ’ 

“I don’t understand Bridges,” Lansing re- 
plied after a moment, his eyes meeting those of 
his friend. 

“No more do I,” said Paul. 

It chanced that the faculty had a brief meet- 
ing on the evening of that same day. After 
adjournment a number of the instructors lin- 
gered, discussing various matters. 

“I hear you had rockets flying over the grid- 
iron this afternoon. Bridges,” remarked Mr. 
Lowell. “My house was agog over the row. 
What was it?” 

“Oh, Arnold told the team what he thought 
of them. I had been wondering how long his 
patience would hold out.” 


ON THE GRIDIRON 


8i 


‘^What kind of a captain does he makeT^ 
inquired Mr. Barrows, who as house master of 
Foster knew Paul well. ‘T tried to extract 
some information from him concerning the team 
hut he wasn^t inclined to commit himself. I 
surmised, though, he wasn’t finding his job any 
cinch.” 

“Arnold hasn’t been able to get the team 
together yet. I am not sure but Patterson would 
have made the better captain,” replied Mr. 
Bridges slowly. “I was glad Arnold did get 
hot ; it shamed some of the fellows into playing 
for the school as he told them and not for them- 
selres. Whether it will work any permanent 
improvement is a question. Arnold doesn’t 
ask my advice so I hesitate to thrust it on him. 
There is good material on that team but we 
shall never beat either Sudbury or Faulkner un- 
less Arnold succeeds in holding the fellows bet- 
ter.” 

“You think Patterson would have made a 
stronger captain?” inquired Dr, Hilton from 
the head of the table. “Has he more influence 
than Arnold!” 

“Why, no, in one sense he hasn’t. Doctor, and 
in another way, he has. He is as brainy a chap 


82 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


as Arnold, and fully as capable. Arnold’s per- 
sonal friends are devotion itself, but — ^well — 
Patterson is different. He can bold more of 
the boys as a leader, while perhaps as indi- 
viduals they care less for him than they do for 
Arnold. Arnold isn’t exactly snobbish, but he 
is fastidious and sometimes a bit of the aristo- 
crat. He doesn’t get hold of the crowd in Pat- 
terson’s careless way.” 

‘T suppose Patterson does his best to sec- 
ond Arnold?” asked Mr. Barrows. ‘‘The de- 
feated candidate for the captaincy owes that to 
the captain, if he chooses to come out for the 
team at all.” 

“Patterson plays good ball,” replied Mr. 
Bridges, coloring a little, for the question had 
been pointed. “You could hardly expect him 
to play up whole-heartedly after being defeated 
for an honor he cared so much about. He plays 
very good ball, on the whole, better than Arnold 
has done so far.” 

Mr. Barrows made no comment but his sig- 
nificant silence constrained the speaker to con- 
tinue. 

“Of course, Arnold has a good deal on his 
mind and his work will doubtless improve.” 


ON THE GRIDIRON 


83 

‘T’m inclined to think that if Patterson had 
been chosen captain, Paul would play up to him 
without reservation,’^ remarked Mr. Barrows. 

‘ ‘Very possibly. In my own opinion the team 
would work better under Patterson.” 

Mr. Barrows opened his lips to speak but 
changed his mind and remained silent. Per- 
haps he caught the shadow of a smile hovering 
on Dr. Hilton’s face, — for some reason he made 
no challenge of this statement. But he lin- 
gered a moment behind the others and in that 
moment the faint smile assumed more definite 
form. 

‘T couldn’t help laughing at you, Barrows,” 
said the principal when the two were alone. 
“You and Bridges were so funny, each defend- 
ing your pet candidate.” 

Mr. Barrows laughed. ‘ ‘ I was rubbed a trifle 
the wrong way. Doctor. I’ve had Paul Arnold 
in my house for four years and I think I know 
him better than Bridges does.” 

“I agree with your estimate of him. But on 
the whole, I am not sorry Paul is having some 
difficulty with the team.” 

“Oh, to a certain extent, it’s a good thing. 
He’ll stand in with them all the better after he’s 


84 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

once got them into shape. I only want Paul to 
get a square deal and I feel sure he isn’t getting 
the support Patterson owes him. I have never 
fully trusted Patterson. He has a sort of cyni- 
cal coldness, odd in so young a boy. ’ ’ 

‘‘You should scarcely judge him by the same 
standard as Arnold. He comes from a ditfer- 
ent social environment and has had radically 
different home influences. Think of the long 
line of cultured gentlemen behind Paul! It is 
hardly fair to expect as much of Patterson with 
a father whose one idea in life is to add more 
money to the heap already accumulated, and 
with a mother absorbed in social ambitions.” 

“True,” admitted Mr. Barrows, “but Pat- 
terson has been at St. Stephen’s three years. 
It is time he showed the influence of that if he 
is ever going to. Every time I talk with him 
I feel as though I was up against a stone wall.” 

“Yes, I know what you mean,” replied Hr. 
Hilton slowly. “I never feel that I have 
reached the real Patterson at all. I may be 
mistaken, but under that mask that he puts on 
for all of us, I believe that he has a better na- 
ture. I hope he won’t leave school without let- 
ting somebody have a glimpse of it. But it is 


ON THE GRIDIRON 85 

unfortunate that he and Paul have become such 
rivals. Still, there is no open hostility, is 
there?^’ 

‘‘Not at all. They merely let each other 
severely alone. Now in this matter of the team, 
if Patterson had the generosity and the manli- 
ness to play up to him, Paul would appreciate 
it and it would end in their being friends. To 
be friends with a fellow like Paul Arnold would 
be the making of George Patterson.’^ 

“If my belief in Patterson is justified,’^ re- 
marked Dr. Hilton imperturbably, “it wouldn’t 
be bad for Paul, either 1” 


CHAPTER VII 

WITH THE LOWER SCHOOL 

The sound of the rising bell is seldom wel- 
come to either pupils or masters. That hoary 
centenarian, Pomeroy, was no exception to this 
rule as he reluctantly arose one cloudy damp 
morning. The prospect from his windows 
showed a dripping world in every direction. 
Nature looked anything but pleasant. 

‘^The kids will be cross and homesick,’’ he 
thought pessimistically. ‘ ‘ Half of them will be 
late for breakfast and I’ll have to send them 
to bed early. ’ ’ 

With such reflections he proceeded to dress. 
His toilet was still at an early stage when 
shrieks resounded through the house, followed 
by stampeding feet on the stairs. 

‘‘What on earth has happened?” he asked of 
himself, following the question by a hasty 
plunge into a bathrobe. 

The hall was pervaded by small boys in all 
86 


WITH THE LOWER SCHOOL 87 

stages of dress and undress. Some were on 
the stairs, others leaning over the banister, a 
group of four or five gathered in a knot in the 
lower corridor. Black and brown heads were 
bent over a yellow one that seemed the center 
of the disturbance. 

‘‘What’s the matter?” Mr. Pomeroy in- 
quired. 

There was no answer. All were intent on the 
group below. “Is he killed?” asked an awe- 
struck voice from the third fioor. 

*^BoysV^ said Mr. Pomeroy impressively. 
‘ ‘ What has happened ? Is any one hurt ? ’ ’ 

A chorus replied. “He fell from the land- 
ing ! He struck on the banister and then 
dropped another floor and hit the radiator!” 

Mr. Pomeroy made two steps to the little knot 
in the hall. “Aside, boys. Let me come. 
Who is hurt?” 

Anxious faces looked up and the group parted 
to disclose Archer, seated flat on the floor with 
a limp kitten in his arms. 

“Patsy fell through the banister!” he ex- 
plained mournfully. “He went ’way down 
from the third floor!” 

In his first relief, Mr. Pomeroy felt a wild de- 


88 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


sire to laugh, but being a patient and kind- 
hearted young man, realized that this accident 
was no laughing matter to the serious children 
about him. 

‘‘Let me see. Archer,’’ he said, successfully 
controlling his risible muscles. “He isn’t 
killed, at least. ’ ’ 

“No, but he isn’t stiff any more,” said Ar- 
cher sorrowfully. “I’m afraid he ’ll never walk 
again.” 

“No bones seem broken. I think he’s only 
stunned. Such a fall knocked the breath out of 
him. How did it happen?” 

“He was playing with a horse-chestnut on the 
third-floor landing while we were dressing. 
The chestnut rolled through the banister and 
Patsy rushed right after it.” 

“Well, he’ll probably have sense enough not 
to do it again,” said Mr. Pomeroy, straighten- 
ing up. “A cat is popularly supposed to have 
nine lives, so Patsy has eight left to go on. Put 
him on a cushion and leave him to get his breath. 
And go and dress, all of you! You’ll be late 
for breakfast. Scamper now I ’ ’ 

The boys slowly dispersed, leaving Archer to 
procure a pillow for the kitten’s comfort. 


WITH THE LOWER SCHOOL 89 

‘‘Poor Wee!’’ he declared sadly. “It’s dread- 
ful to lose even one life in such a way. ’ ’ 

“If he dies, we can have a dandy funeral,” 
suggested Skinny hopefully. 

Under ordinary circumstances, Archer’s 
slender physique would have been inadequate to 
displace Skinny’s double bulk, but anger lent 
added weight and the assault was wholly unex- 
pected. With a thud. Skinny landed on the 
floor. 

Mr. Pomeroy, still repressing a desire to 
laugh, pulled Archer off his victim. 

“George, that wasn’t a kind remark,” he said 
reprovingly. ‘ ‘ Archer naturally feels badly be- 
cause the kitten was hurt. Archer, you needn’t 
be such a pepper-pot. I should suppose you 
would wish your friends to pay Patsy due re- 
spect.” 

Archer looked up with big and angry eyes. 
“Skinny,” he announced crushingly, “is a 
germ! He has no sense of perspective!” 

As he spoke. Archer started upstairs, an in- 
dignant little figure in blue pajamas. The an- 
nihilated George stared after him in stunned 
silence and then meekly followed. Mr. Pome- 
roy retired to his room to chuckle over the whole 


90 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

affair and to wonder what Archer knew of 
germs and whether he meant proportion or pro- 
priety. 

As he anticipated, nearly half the boys were 
late for breakfast, and incurred the prescribed 
penalty of going to bed as many minutes early 
as they had been late. Archer, pale and dis- 
turbed, refused to eat; George seemed bewil- 
dered. Clearly the day was not beginning well 
for the inhabitants of the Nursery. 

Sympathetic Mrs. Holmes came to the rescue 
and Archer, somewhat consoled, went to chapel, 
leaving Patsy in possession of every creature 
comfort the matron’s sitting-room could afford. 
When he came in at noon, the kitten seemed de- 
cidedly more alert. 

‘‘Patsy’s better,” he said joyfully. “He’s 
considerably stiffer. But I wish Mother was 
here. I had a tan-colored rabbit once. Its 
name was Cinnamon Bun. Somehow its leg got 
hurt but Mother bandaged it and it was all well 
the next day.” 

“We’ll have to give Patsy until to-morrow to 
feel quite like himself,” replied the matron. 
“But I’m sure he isn’t seriously injured. He’s 


WITH THE LOWER SCHOOL 91 

a spoiled child, Archer. He cried because I 
couldn’t hold him in my lap all the morning. ” 

That afternoon the rain fell steadily, not soft 
drops but torrents that drove against the panes 
and blew in through open windows. The small 
boys in the Nursery reluctantly went to their 
usual tasks. Unlike the Upper school which 
met only for recitation and did all preparation 
outside, the Lower school sat at assigned desks 
in a big schoolroom and worked under supervi- 
sion. To-day they straggled in to find Mr. 
Lowell, as usual, in charge of the room. Be- 
hind him on the blackboard was written: 
^‘Some one’s desk is not in order. Whose!” 

The boys looked at the board, at one another 
and at the instructor. Archer lifted his desk- 
lid and peeped in. 

‘T can give you a perfectly good answer to 
that question, sir,” he said at last. His face 
was flushed and embarrassed. In his haste to 
visit Patsy, books and papers had been hustled 
out of sight without regard to neatness. 

‘‘Hush-h!” replied Mr. Lowell mysteriously. 
^Tt’s a secret. Archer.” 

There was a ripple of laughter for, as he 


92 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

spoke, Mr. Lowell erased the incriminating 
words, and then announced, “English class, at- 
tention. Study period for others.’^ 

The younger boys settled to attention but at 
first the lesson did not proceed very well. 
Rainy weather seemed to have dampened spirits 
and caused minds to go wool-gathering. 

“Bryan,’’ said Mr. Lowell at length, “what 
does the word, awl, mean!” 

“It’s a tool,” replied Bryan promptly; “a 
shoemaker’s tool.” 

“Give me a sentence containing it,” went on 
the instructor. 

“I had a little awl. I stuck it in the wall,” 
remarked Bryan. 

Mr. Lowell looked up sharply, but Bryan’s 
face was perfectly serious nor was any member 
of the class smiling. 

“That’s not a particularly enlightening sen- 
tence,” commented the teacher, ignoring the at- 
tempt to be funny, if such it was. ‘ ‘ An awl has 
a point. Your example hasn’t. Think of an- 
other.” 

“He made holes in the leather with an awl,” 
amended Bryan, still perfectly sober of counte- 


nance. 


WITH THE LOWER SCHOOL 93 

‘‘Right. Define the word maroon, Archer, 
and give an example of its proper use. ’ ^ 

“It^s the name of a color. Some flowers are 
maroon.’’ 

“Correct for that meaning, lllsed as a verb, 
the word has another definition. What is it?” 

“It’s what pirates do with mutineers,” sug- 
gested Archer. “Put them ashore. The cap- 
tain marooned him on a marine island.” 

Mr. Lowell bit his lip. The class looked ad- 
miringly at Archer. 

“I think I should say a sea island, or a desert 
island,” said the instructor gravely. “Donald, 
define the word shipment. ’ ’ 

Donald was about to comply when the door 
opened to admit a boy who had been sent back 
to the Nursery to change his wet shoes. He 
was one of the youngest lads in the house, a 
nervous, unattractive child who had somehow 
managed to get himself more or less actively 
disliked by most of the Lower school. 

“Find your book quickly, Thayer,” said Mr. 
Lowell. “Go on, Donald.” 

Thayer went to his desk, opened it and 
dropped the lid with a bang and a shriek. 
Every boy in the room turned iu his direction. 


94 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘^What’s the matter T’ asked Mr. Lowell. 

There ^s a s-snake in mj desk!’’ replied 
Thayer, almost in tears. 

‘‘Oh, is there?” said the instructor. “Well, 
put it out of the window. ’ ’ 

“I don’t want to touch it!” moaned Thayer. 

Mr. Lowell glanced rapidly from one boy to 
another. Archer looked shocked. Tommy and 
Donald mildly interested, Bryan, — ah ! 

“Bryan, you’re not afraid of snakes, are 
you?” 

“No, sir,” replied Bryan, blushing to his 
ears. 

“Then kindly remove that one for Thayer. 
Go on, Donald.” 

Bryan removed the small snake that had so 
alarmed Thayer and obediently dropped it from 
an open window. Decidedly discomposed, he 
returned to his seat. Thayer, still sniffling, 
glared suspiciously into the four corners of his 
desk and finally extracted his book. The lesson 
went on with no further reference to the affair, 
and was succeeded by a study period and a class 
in arithmetic with another instructor. But 
Bryan was not surprised when school was dis- 
missed at half-past three to be told to remain. 


WITH THE LOWER SCHOOL 95 

He waited in company with several others but 
Mr. Lowell paid no attention to him. He looked 
over a composition with Geoffrey, explained a 
geography lesson to Arthur, corrected an Eng- 
lish exercise with Freeman. Four o’clock 
struck before he summoned Bryan, left alone in 
the big schoolroom. 

‘^Well, now, Bryan,” he said pleasantly, 
‘Tell me why you put that snake in Thayer’s 
desk!” 

Bryan considered him seriously. Mr. Lowell, 
leaning forward with elbows on his desk and his 
hair somewhat rumpled, didn’t look so very 
formidable. Was it worth while to try to make 
him understand! 

‘T put it in,” he admitted, “because we de- 
cided the other night that something had to be 
done to make Thayer a man. ’ ’ 

“Oh, you did!” said Mr. Lowell. “Who 
are ‘we’!” 

Bryan stuck at answering this. “Two or 
three of us fellows,” he explained. “Thayer is 
such a baby! You don’t live in the house with 
him, Mr. Lowell, so you don’t know how much he 
needs to be braced up. The other night we de- 
cided that something had to be done. ’ ’ 


96 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

Mr. Lowell looked at him searchingly. Bryan 
was serious and apparently in earnest. 

‘ ‘ That evening, ’ ’ he went on, ‘ ‘ we were in Mr. 
Pomeroy’s study and Patsy was there, too. 
He’s Archer’s kitten, you know. Patsy got up 
on Mr. Pomeroy’s desk and hid in an empty 
pigeon-hole. Thayer went by the desk and 
Patsy bounced out at him. Thayer screamed 
fit to raise the roof and just at a little soft kit- 
ten! But what made us decide to do some- 
thing right away was the earthquake in Japan. ’ ’ 

Bryan stopped as if this statement explained 
itself. 

‘‘Yes?” said Mr. Lowell. “Just what up- 
heaval did it cause in Clarke House?” 

“Why,” continued Bryan, “Thayer was per- 
fectly certain that we were going to have one 
here in Massachusetts and he cried. So we 
made up our minds that we must see about him 
before he got any worse. Nobody will ever like 
him if he grows up the way he is now.” 

“Well, Bryan,” said Mr. Lowell, “I don’t be- 
lieve putting a snake in his desk is going to help 
him. Honestly, now, do you?” 

“Of course, he didn’t like it,” admitted 
Bryan, “but it was good for him. A fellow has 


WITH THE LOWER SCHOOL 97 

to get used to things at school. Why, Thayer 
can’t even play ball because he cries if the ball 
hits him, and so nobody wants to play with him. 
Now, Tommy fell over backward the other day 
and cut his head open on a radiator so the bone 
showed. Br. Cary had to sew it up but Tommy 
never cried. Something has got to be done 
about Thayer.” 

‘‘Thayer isn’t very strong and he isn’t used 
to playing with other boys,” said Mr. Lowell. 
“He hasn’t been well and his mother didn’t like 
him to do things. Now, you know how it is 
about learning anything, skating or tennis or 
football, — ^you can’t learn it all at once. The 
trouble with Thayer is that he doesn’t know how 
to get on with other boys and he has to learn 
how gradually. It isn’t easy. Suppose you 
were suddenly plumped down into a community 
of monkeys, wouldn’t you find it a little difficult 
to get used to them?” 

Bryan laughed outright. 

‘ ‘ Making mild fun of Thayer probably doesn’t 
do him any harm, but you must remember not 
to be unkind. If Thayer were as strong as the 
rest of you he wouldn’t be so upset by trifles. 
You can help him most by being patient with 


98 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

him. Now, are you going to put any more 
snakes in anybody's desk?’^ 

“Nobody but Thayer dislikes them,’’ replied 
Bryan mischievously. 

Mr. Lowell smiled. “Lucky, isn’t it? Run 
along. But tell your committee of reform to 
step softly.” 

Bry’an departed to report the message, to 
Tommy and Donald whom he found with Ar- 
cher in the matron’s sitting-room. Patsy 
showed marked improvement, even a tendency 
to play. 

“I said a snake was too much,” said Tommy 
when he had heard the story. “Pepper would 
have been better.” 

“I don’t think pepper would do any good,” 
said Archer, stroking Patsy lovingly. “If 
Thayer liked us ever so much, perhaps he would 
be different.” 

“He does like you,” said Bryan. “I don’t 
want him to like me. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Don ’t worry, ’ ’ teased Tommy. “No danger 
after this. But I guess we’d better call our job 
off.” 

Another morning found the cherished kitten 
quite himself, playful as ever and none the 


WITH THE LOWER SCHOOL 99 

worse for his escapade. Shortly after the boys 
left for school, Susan appeared at the matron’s 
door with Patsy tucked under one arm. 

‘‘And sure, the little beast wants to kill him- 
self,” she explained to Mrs. Holmes. “I was 
lighting me fire downstairs under the big 
bricked-in boiler when I heard a rustling. 
Thinks I, ’tis a mouse, so I blows out the match 
and pokes among the papers and kindling till 
out pops the wee cat. ’Tis another of his nine 
lives that he’s flung to the winds. And next, I 
wint to turn on the hot water and there sits the 
small imp in the bottom of me tub. ’Tis bent on 
death he is, so I’ve brought him up, for sure 
he’ll be trying to put his tail through me 
wringer. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Holmes shut the kitten into her sitting- 
room and continued her rounds through the de- 
serted house. On reaching the third floor, she 
paused to smile at the unusual aspect presented 
by the landing. The banister was guarded by a 
barricade of books, ranging from Bryan’s “Be- 
ginners’ Latin” to Tommy’s “Robinson Cru- 
soe. ’ ’ Patsy should find no further excuse for 
trying to walk on air! 


CHAPTER Vm 


SUNDAY AFTEENOON 

PauLt sat in his study, elbows on his desk, his 
head propped in both hands. Not until nearly 
eleven had he been alone or had a chance to think 
about the events of the afternoon. Now, the 
last visitor had departed and Alex had gone to 
bed. 

Well, it was over, that game with Sudbury, 
and St. Stephen’s team had been defeated on 
their own ground with a score of 17 to 7. It was 
bad, very bad. How could it have been bet- 
tered? 

Sudbury outweighed them by a few pounds, 
but that could not make the difference. St. 
Stephen’s had scored during the first quarter, 
held them in the second, lost ground steadily 
throughout the last half. That argued lack of 
endurance. But Phil Lansing had played like 
a whirlwind; to him they owed their single 
score. Penrose, Fraser, and Denham had gone 
in for every ounce they were worth. 

100 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON 


lOI 


Paul mentally reviewed each of the eleven. 
Jacobs, the slow-witted, had done good work at 
tackle, Hotchkiss had gotten around Sudbury ^s 
end again and again. There was Patterson, — 
at last he reached Patterson, who, curiously, 
had loomed in the background of his mind all the 
time. What kind of ball had Patterson played f 

Well, he had bucked their center successfully, 
he had kept Sudbury from breaking through. 
Paul, playing left half-back, had known this. 
But he knew, or thought he knew, something 
else. 

During that scrimmage in the third quarter, 
some one had grasped PauPs ankle, clutched it 
with a vim that not only made him miss a tackle, 
but flung him headlong. For either side it was 
foul play. Whoever dared do it, took advantage 
of the confusion of the mingled players to exe- 
cute a dirty trick that would have sent him to 
the side-lines had the umpire s^en. Perhaps it 
was one of the Sudbury team, — Paul wanted to 
think that it was. But there was that odd look 
on Patterson’s face to be accounted for, a cool, 
satisfled expression strange indeed in that 
heated moment, caught just as Paul picked him- 
self up. If Patterson had tripped him, it was 


102 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


the worst of foul play and rank disloyalty as 
well. In his own mind, Paul was certain, but 
no one else had noticed, neither umpire, referee, 
nor linesman. Lansing, the only fellow he felt 
like asking, was in the back-field; he could not 
possibly have seen whether it was a red-clad or 
a brown-clad arm that so deftly did its work. 

Having faced this one point squarely, Paul 
considered the outcome of the game. It showed 
St. Stephen’s as lamentably weak, lacking in 
staying power, but it did show an appreciable 
gain in team-work. Given time, brains and 
practice might develop an eleven that would 
amount to something, but what could be done in 
a week? And one week from to-day came the 
game with Faulkner. 

In past years, St. Stephen’s played more 
games with other schools, but since Dr. Hilton 
had been principal, the number of outside con- 
tests had been cut to two. In this way. Dr. Hil- 
ton felt that the desirable features of the game 
were largely retained and the evils greatly les- 
sened. For the past few years, this had worked 
extremely well ; interest had not flagged and St. 
Stephen’s had developed a team that for five 
seasons won from both Sudbury and Faulkner. 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON 


103 

This series of victories seemed to justify the 
principal’s belief that better results would be 
obtained if play and practice were confined 
chiefly to the school ’s own members. 

But after this defeat, there was no proba- 
bility that they could win from Faulkner, for 
Faulkner had beaten Sudbury. No, St. Ste- 
phen’s team was facing certain loss. All that 
could be hoped was to keep the score as low as 
possible. 

Paul’s only consolation was a brief word from 
Mr. Bridges, the more welcome because wholly 
unexpected, coming in place of the condemna- 
tion he was prepared to face. To be told that 
he had done the best any one could do, shown 
both skill and resourcefulness in directing his 
play, was a tribute Paul had not thought to re- 
ceive from the coach. The open loyalty of most 
of the team, their genuine, affectionate regret, 
helped make the defeat more bearable. If he 
could only settle somehow that suspicion about 
Patterson ! 

He rose to look into the corridor. All was 
quiet, lights out, except two with red bulbs indi- 
cating the stairs and a green one over a bath- 
room door. Paul stole silently down the hall to 


104 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

Lansing’s room. The unlocked door revealed a 
dark study. From Hotchkiss’ bedroom came a 
snore, but Lansing’s was quiet. Paul entered 
softly. 

‘‘Asleep, Phil?” 

For a second there was no answer, then a 
voice drawled, “Yes!” 

“Listen,” said Paul, laughing in spite of the 
gravity of his errand. ‘ ‘ Tell me, did you notice 
any foul play to-day?” 

“Did I?” scoffed Lansing. “A whopping 
great brute from Sudbury handed me a dig in 
me vitals when nobody was looking. Their 
fast end twisted my neck when we were rolling 
round the field wrapped in each other’s arms.” 

“Did you see any fouls on our side?” Paul 
asked after a moment. 

“Why, no, of course not,” said Lansing, be- 
coming serious. ‘ ‘ Sudbury was twice penalized 
for holding, you know. Our only penalty was 
when Harry got off-side. What do you mean ? ’ ’ 

“Nothing, probably. Go to sleep. Sweet 
dreams and happy night-mares.” 

“Go to sleep yourself, old cow! Just shut 
that window in the study, will you? Books and 
furniture have been blowing about for some 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON 


105 

time. Decided if the radiator broke loose, I’d 
get up, but for nothing short of that. ’ ’ 

‘‘Phil,” went on Paul as he reached the door. 
“Bridges was decent to me after the game.” 

“Bridges also bespoke me softly,” came Lan- 
sing’s voice in the darkness. ‘ ‘ Said I was on to 
me job. Has Bridges experienced a change of 
heart?” 

“I’d give something to know,” replied Paul, 
departing to close the window and seek his own 
room. 

Dinner over on Sunday, Alex dragged Paul 
otf for the afternoon. He knew his chum was 
physically tired, knew he was sick of hearing 
yesterday’s game discussed, and knew that the 
coming week would be hard. 

Paul at first decided in favor of the canoe, 
then changed his mind on realizing how popular 
the river would be on so beautiful a day. Walk- 
ing would put him in better shape for practice 
to-morrow, so the two set off at a quick pace. 
Until vespers at five, the world lay before them. 

For the past week there had been glorious 
weather, with warm, sunshiny noons and nights 
hardly chilly enough to color the foliage. Out- 
of-door life was a privilege to be appreciated 


io6 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


wlien every day might bring an end to complete 
freedom. On this Sunday afternoon the air 
was perfectly quiet and warm enough for mid- 
summer. Out in the October stillness where a 
brown and golden landscape stretched away to 
mountains gleaming blue beyond the New 
Hampshire border, life assumed a truer per- 
spective. The hills would remain, the sunset 
would light them with the same glory whether 
or not St. Stephen’s won the game next Satur- 
day. 

No bounds were set for the older boys in the 
surrounding neighborhood. Except that they 
might not visit without special permission the 
town lying toward the east, miles of rolling 
country were free to wandering feet. The 
Lower school was kept strictly to certain limits, 
and defiance of this rule was a serious breach of 
discipline. 

Paul had succeeded in putting his perplexities 
out of his head during a brisk two hours ’ walk, 
but as they neared the school grounds again and 
sauntered more slowly through a chestnut wood 
carpeted with yellow leaves, a sober expression 
came over his face. 

‘‘Can’t you keep your mind off that game?” 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON 107 

Alex inquired, noticing the change. ‘‘You look 
as though some dire disease was preying upon 
you.” 

“I haven’t said one word about it,” retorted 
Paul curtly, having pricked his fingers on a 
chestnut bur that proved a delusion and a snare 
inside. 

“True, but you are thinking about it.” 

“I reckon you would. I know, as well as if he 
told me so, that Bridges really thinks the eleven 
would have amounted to more under Patterson 
as captain. The thing Bridges doesn’t seem to 
be wise about is that Patterson is the fellow who 
has prevented the whole team from playing up 
to me. I really think, if I were in Patterson’s 
place, I wouldn’t sacrifice the entire school, so 
to speak, just to gratify my own grudge. 
Bridges does back me, of course, and he was 
more than decent yesterday, but I feel all the 
time that he thinks Patterson would have made 
a better captain.” 

The boys had come to the edge of the grove. 
Before them lay a sunny slope stretching away 
to the shallow, winding river. 

“I suppose,” Paul went on rather bitterly, 
“if I were a fellow in a story, I’d say to Patter- 


io8 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


son: ‘Here, we’ve lost one game and as things 
are, we shall lose another. Now, you be cap- 
tain and we’ll all get together and come out with 
rags of glory flying in every direction.’ That’s 
the conventional thing. But I’m going to fight 
it out till the bitter end. ’ ’ Paul’s mouth shut in 
a straight line as he finished. 

‘T don’t see why you can’t drop Patterson 
and play your second-eleven center, — Gay, isn’t 
it? — against Faulkner.” 

“Patterson is by far the better player and I 
can’t do it without a definite reason.” Paul 
paused for a moment. Not even to Alex was he 
yet ready to mention that incident of yester- 
day’s game. “Every now and then he croaks 
about its being no use to play with such a bum 
team. He’s the limit as a knocker! The other 
day I told him point-blank to shut his mouth. 
Of course, it takes the starch out of the rest. I 
pull ’em up and Patterson pulls them down, and 
so enthusiasm is one dead level. And the school 
is the same.” 

“The school has a good deal more interest in 
the team than you think, ’ ’ said Alex consolingly. 
“And there’ll be a mass meeting Friday. Doc 
will jockey things up. And when it comes to 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON 109 

the actual playing, I think Patterson will forget 
himself.” 

‘‘ YouVe more faith in him than I have,” said 
Paul gruffly. ‘^There’s one man on the faculty 
who has eyes. Last evening, when I looked into 
Barrows’ study to say good-night, he was alone. 
He spoke of some points of the game, didn’t 
mention anybody by name, but somehow he 
made me understand that he knew how it was.” 

‘ ^ Barry ’s a good sort, ’ ’ Alex assented. ^ T -m 
mighty glad we’ve been in his house so long. 
What’s that kid doing here?” 

A breathless little figure came running lightly 
down the leaf -strewn path. Not until he was 
actually upon them did he see the older boys. 

‘ ‘ Look here ! ’ ’ said Paul sternly. ‘ ‘ What are 
you doing out of bounds?” 

The child stopped in evident distress. 

<<Why, it’s Bryan Bellew,” remarked Alex. 
‘‘Little Boy Blue, don’t you know you haven’t 
any business here? Go blow your horn some- 
where else.” 

“Yes, I know it,” said Bryan rather defi- 
antly. 

“Well, turn round and go home,” Paul ad- 
vised him lazily. “Things will happen if you 


no ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


don’t watch out. We’re supposed to report 
kids who break hounds.” 

Bryan stood staring with big troubled eyes. 

‘‘Haystacks are scarce round here,” Alex 
went on teasingly. “Only chestnut-burs, 
sonny, and no chestnuts at that.” 

“I have to go down to the river,” said Bryan, 
still standing his ground. 

“Oh, you do?” inquired Paul, as he spoke, 
catching him with a quick hand. “Not if I 
know it ! Go hack, if you don’t want me to take 
you. I could, easily, with three fingers.” 

“Why must you go down to the river and 
what are you doing with an extra pair of 
trousers?” persisted Alex, indicating the roll 
tucked under the captive’s arm. 

Bryan looked from one inquisitor to the other, 
his face showing a mixture of bravado and per- 
plexity. “Oh, Arnold, please let me go,” he 
begged, twisting helplessly in the lazy grasp of 
his captor. “I know I’m out of bounds but I 
can’t help it. And I must go down to the 
river ! ’ ’ 

“Tell us why,” commanded Paul. 

“Oh, but I can’t!” sputtered Boy Blue. 
“Will you let me go if I do?” 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON in 


^Try it and see.’’ 

‘‘You might let me. It’s very important,” 
begged Bryan. His awe and admiration of 
Paul prevented his being too importunate, but 
distress was overcoming his natural pugnacity. 

‘‘Tell me,” repeated Paul inexorably. 

“ Well ! ” said Bryan desperately, ‘ ‘ some of us 
were down there a while ago. Oh, yes, I know 
it’s out of bounds. And we went in swimming. 
And a dog came and tore up a fellow’s trousers, 
so he can’t get home. I went after another 
pair. ’ ’ 

“Who’s the fellow?” Paul inquired. 

“I won’t tell you!” declared Bryan defiantly. 

“Archer, isn’t it? I thought so. Give me 
those trousers and tell me where he is. I’ll take 
them to him myself. ’ ’ 

In dejected misery. Boy Blue handed over his 
burden and indicated Archer’s lurking-place. 
He looked so unhappy that Alex was moved to 
sympathy. 

“Go home. Boy Blue,’'* he said kindly. 
“None of you kids have any business here, but I 
think you’re a brick to come back just to help 
Archer out of a scrape.” 

“We won’t report you this time,” added 


1 12 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


Paul, ‘‘but don’t let us catch you out of bounds 
again.” 

Bryan turned sorrowfully schoolward and 
Paul started for the river. Alex, smiling in- 
wardly, kept pace with him. 

“Great Scott, Paul, don’t have such a cast- 
iron expression!” he remonstrated. “Your 
jaw is set like a gladiator’s. I remember when 
we bunked bounds and came here ourselves. ’ ’ 

“Of course,” said Paul briefly. “But Ar- 
cher is the limit! And the idea of his going 
swimming on the first of November!” ‘ 

Alex chuckled. He found extremely divert- 
ing the manner in which Paul took his fraternal 
responsibilities. At Paul’s hail, Archer’s yel- 
low head appeared beyond a bush. 

“Come out here and put those on,” com- 
manded Paul, throwing the trousers at him. 
“You disgraceful kid!” 

Archer obeyed, casting side-long glances at 
his brother, glances that convulsed Alex but left 
Paul unmoved in disgusted silence. 

“Now, look here,” he said at length. 
“You’ve been swimming, which is a fool thing 
to do at this time of year. You’ll probably 
have the croup to-night and a sore throat to- 


SUNDAY AFTERNOON 


113 

morrow. You're out of bounds. If I report 
you, you'll catch it froin Pomeroy." 

Archer gave him another killing glance. 
got very tired singing in church this morning," 
he remarked gently. ^‘That anthem was diffi- 
cult. Mr. Carter said I did it very well and that 
I had better rest this afternoon. It rests me to 
come here." 

Alex snorted but Paul's suppressed wrath ex- 
ploded. 

‘‘Archer, if you hand me out any more cheek, 
I'll cuff you! You're disgustingly fresh. If I 
report you, you'll find that breaking bounds is 
no small matter. ' ' 

“But you won't report me," said Archer con- 
fidently. 

“No, not this time," Paul replied after a 
pause. ‘ ‘ But if I catch you out of bounds again. 
I'll give you a licking you won't forget in a 
hurry. Now, remember that. I mean exactly 
what I say and I'll do it. Now, go home. No, 
you needn't wait for us. We don't want you." 

This time Archer included Alex in a survey 
from imder dropped lashes. Not once had his 
face lost its serene expression. He went, quite 
deliberately and with apparent unconcern. 


1 14 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

^‘Panl, you’ll be the death of me,” laughed 
Alex as the trim little figure vanished into the 
chestnut grove. 

‘T don’t see anything funny,” was the grim 
reply. 

‘ ‘ I know you don ’t, ’ ’ chuckled Alex. ‘ ‘ That ’s 
the funniest part of all!” 


CHAPTER IX 

THE FAULJKNEE. GAME 

During the succeeding week Paul wondered 
more than once over the changed attitude of the 
coach. True, the only thing he had ever had 
against Mr. Bridges was an instinctive feeling 
that he was not wholly in sympathy, but all 
through the daily practice following the game 
with Sudbury, Paul was conscious of complete 
and entire backing. Mr. Bridges was indefati- 
gable in advising, in drilling weak plays, in 
suggesting strong ones. Once, he abruptly 
stopped the game to rebuke Patterson for un- 
warranted roughness, but the reproof lost some- 
what of its significance when it was followed by 
one of equal severity to Hotchkiss for losing his 
head and getting off-side. 

So far as Mr, Bridges was concerned, some- 
thing had certainly rendered him less critical 
of Paul. Patterson was more amenable than 
usual, so that the captain, though aware he could 
116 


ii6 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


not hope to win, felt more cheerful concerning 
the possible score. 

The weather continued perfect, crisp golden 
days followed by cool nights. Saturday morn- 
ing dawned in a haze of glory. 

Paul had not slept well and woke unrefreshed, 
though like the rest of the team, he had obe- 
diently gone to bed at nine. No amount of cold 
water sufficed to take a queer bruised feeling 
from his head. On his way to his room, he met 
Lansing, turning out for his shower. 

^ ^ Don’t I feel like a boiled owl, just ! ” groaned 
Phil as he passed. ‘T awoke at the squawk of 
dawn. Catch me going to bed with the birdies 
again! I’ll break training to-night and break 
it so it’ll be no use to look for the pieces.” 

Recitations were cut short and luncheon 
served an hour earlier so that the school could 
be ready for the special train provided to take 
them to Faulkner. Permission to attend the 
game was given even to the little lads in the 
Nursery. Only students on probation or other- 
wise under discipline were prevented from wit- 
nessing the all important event. 

Team, coach, and substitutes went by an 
earlier train, dined with Faulkner and were es- 


THE FAULKNER GAME 117 

corted to commodious quarters in the basement 
of the gymnasium. Faulkner possessed a 
finely-equipped track-house, but the accommoda- 
tions placed at the disposal of their guests were 
quite as good as their own at St. Stephen’s. 

Paul had played the previous year in the 
great game, but then it had taken place on the 
home gridiron. Getting into his football suit, 
he felt his head clearing, felt curiou-sly more 
sure of himself. The rest of the fellows were 
chatting quite unconcernedly while they dressed. 
Lansing, as usual, was playing the goat, but the 
general aspect of the team was calm. Pres- 
ently in the distance they heard music and ap- 
plause. 

^ We’ll sing for old St. Stephen's, 

Whose hill-tops touch the sky. 

WeUl sing the crimson banner 
St. Stephen’s waves on high 

Mr. Bridges moved among the players, speak- 
ing a last word here and there. ‘‘Save your- 
self for the last half, Arnold,” he said briefly. 

“Do I stand a chance to get into it?” asked 
Gay, coming up with a blanket over his shoul- 
ders. 

“Shouldn’t wonder,” Paul replied gruflBiy. 


ii8 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


Ready now, fellows? If we don^t win, let^s 
give ’em a tough fight.” 

The team trotted on to the field where Faulk- 
ner was already warming up. Bleachers on 
either side showed gay with green and red ban- 
ners, — ^were vociferous with applause. Three 
thousand people had gathered to see the game. 
To the excited players their number seemed 
legion. 

‘‘Cracky, what a gang!” muttered the irre- 
pressible Lansing. 

St. Stephen’s won the toss and chose to de- 
fend the north goal. Faulkner kicked oif and 
Denham caught the ball. The game had be- 
gun. 

Paul felt himself growing more and more 
steady. The shouts of acclamation, the songs, 
the banners, the cheer leaders brandishing arms 
and megaphones, all became faint and far away 
as in a dream. He saw only the red and green 
sweaters of the two teams, found himself taking 
painfully minute notes of the game, saw at once 
that Wright, the Faulkner fullback, was a 
“wonder.” 

Sharp came the umpire’s whistle. Faulkner 
was penalized fifteen yards for holding, but 


THE FAULKNER GAME 119 

Wright promptly gained that distance. Faulk- 
ner right tackle tried a, place kick and failed. 
The ball was given to St. Stephen’s on the 
twenty-five yard line. 

Paul kicked it thirty yards only to have it re- 
turned by Wright in a masterly punt. Jacobs 
fumbled and lost it to Faulkner. 

Next, Wright made seventy yards down the 
field, straight through tackle, Kempton made a 
touch-down and Wright kicked the goal. 

Faulkner’s score, and Faulkner made that 
fact unmistakably plain. As soon as the school 
could make itself heard, St. Stephen’s began to 
cheer each member of its team by name. 

The next few moments were but a repetition 
of those just past. Faulkner ran the ball back 
sixty yards through all interference, tried a for- 
ward pass and failed. The ball came to St. 
Stephen’s on the twenty-yard line. The first 
play lost five yards, then Paul sent a forty-yard 
punt caught by the Faulkner quarter-back, who 
was promptly tackled by Lansing. Faulkner 
got the ball, made a down directly through Pat- 
terson, and gained thirty-five yards around the 
left end. St. Stephen’s line held, till Faulkner 
again broke through the center, Wright made a 


120 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

second touoli-down and kicked his second 
goal. 

In the midst of the joyful clamor from the 
green bleachers, Paul turned to look squarely at 
Patterson. The center was. covered with mud 
and dirt, bore every mark of a hard fray, but 
Faulkner had twice forced a way through the 
line at that point. 

The first quarter ended with a score of four- 
teen to nothing. The teams changed goals. 
Paul substituted Hobbs for Parker, who had 
strained his shoulder. Faulkner kicked off and 
Paul caught the ball, but made only ten yards 
before being tackled. Wright got the ball, and 
before any one knew what was happening, got 
around St. Stephen's left end and added another 
grandstand play to his record in a third touch- 
down and goal. 

‘^Fraser is about aU in,” said Lansing, com- 
ing up to Paul. ‘‘He can’t hold that right end 
of theirs.” 

“I’ll take him out at the end of the quarter,” 
said Paul, hurrying to his place. 

Presently, Faulkner was off-side and incurred 
a penalty of five yards. Hotchkiss succeeded in 
holding Wright for no gain. Next, Faulkner 


THE FAULKNER GAME 121 


kicked a field goal. For the rest of the quarter, 
St. Stephen's held its opponents. The half 
ended with Faulkner ^s score of twenty-four. 

A disheveled, panting eleven gathered in their 
quarters, mopping mud and perspiration from 
their faces as they made the most of the breath- 
ing spell. 

‘‘Weston, you’ll go in for Fraser,” Paul di- 
rected. As he spoke, he felt a touch on his arm 
and looked around to see Mr. Bridges. 

“Arnold,” said the coach, drawing him aside 
and looking him full in the face. “If Faulkner 
breaks through center again, I’d advise you to 
put Gay in.” 

“Very good, sir,” answered Paul, after a 
slight pause, during which he had exchanged a 
glance with Mr. Bridges. So he was not the 
only one who suspected Patterson of being 
“easy”! 

The coach turned from Paul to Patterson, and 
from the sullen expression that crossed the 
boy’s face, Paul guessed at a sharp expostula- 
tion. But for the team in general Mr. Bridges 
had only words of encouragement. 

When the elevens lined^ up for the second half, 
Faulkner had put in two new men. Wright 


122 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


kicked off and Paul caught the ball. For three 
successive plays, St. Stephen’s held their oppo- 
nents, but on the fourth, Wright broke through 
the center, made a touch-down and kicked his 
fourth goal. 

His eyes blazing, Paul turned to Patterson. 
Not only had the center given way but in that 
heated scrimmage, Paul had again been thrown, 
this time, by the leg of a prostrate player. It 
had happened just as he attempted to tackle 
Wright, already through the line. Was any one 
but Patterson down just then? 

‘‘Go to the side-line!” he ordered, beckoning 
to Gay as he spoke. 

For a second, Patterson glared at him, an 
ugly expression crossing his face. ‘ ‘ Of all the 
brass!” he began, then stopped. 

“No words!” said Paul, his resolute eyes 
meeting those of the defiant center. 

Patterson turned slowly, passing the tri- 
umphant Gay, running to report to the referee. 

The succeeding play showed the wisdom of 
the change, for St. Stephen’s stood like a rock. 
In two more plays they had gained fifteen yards. 
Then Lansing got the ball and made twenty 
yards around Faulkner ’s right end before being 



“Go 


TO THE SIDE-LINE ! ” — Page 122. 


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THE FAULKNER GAME 123 

tackled. When the group of players disen- 
tangled themselves one of the red-clad team lay 
prone on the ground. 

‘‘Lansing is knocked out!’’ went the murmur 
around St. Stephen’s benches. Referee and 
players crowded up, a trainer came running with 
the water pail, followed promptly by Faulkner’s 
school physician. 

Presently Lansing opened his eyes, saw mist- 
ily the faces bending over him, pluckily tried to 
rise and fell hack. 

“Ankle sprained,” pronounced the doctor. 
“Help him off the field and I’ll attend to it 
there.” 

Willing hands supported the disabled player 
to the bleachers, where Dr. Cary joined Faulk- 
ner’s physician. Tears of rage and mortifica- 
tion filled Lansing’s eyes as he saw Thorley run 
in to take his place. 

“Just my everlasting luck!” he muttered. 
“Knocked out the very minute St. Stephen’s 
needs me most!” 

But something had got into St. Stephen’s 
eleven that had not been there before. Tired, 
gasping, they played with the calm of despera- 
tion. If they could not score, they at least held 


124 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

the ball, held it on their twenty-yard line. It 
passed to Faulkner and again they held their 
own, came hack to them and still they held it. 
And the half must be almost over. Come what 
might, Faulkner should not break through 
again, their star player should kick no more 
goals. Grrimly they fought to the accompani- 
ment of a seemingly far distant chorus of music, 
cheers, howls, acclamation from either side of 
the bleachers. And would the half ever be 
over? 

That desperate nightmare in which the eleven 
seemed forlornly fighting broke before the ref- 
eree’s whistle. The game was ended, — thirty- 
one to nothing in favor of Faulkner. Paul, 
muddy and pale, turned frantically to an equally 
exhausted team. Amid the overpowering 
clamor that rent the air, he at last made him- 
self heard. 

‘^Get together, fellows, and give them a cheer! 
Show them how we lose ! ” 

Loyal to command, the lads rallied, their 
cheer for their opponents half drowned by the 
babel of rejoicing from the spectators, but 
Faulkner heard. From across the field their 
team paused to cheer that of St. Stephen’s and 


THE FAULKNER GAME 125 

their captain ran back to exchange a handshake 
with Paul. 

Honest, Arnold, I can’t be sorry we beat yon, 
but I do wish it hadn’t been quite such a walk- 
over.” 

We ’ll accommodate you next year,” said St. 
Stephen’s plucky captain, noting to his satisfac- 
tion that the opposing bleachers were now ex- 
changing complimentary cheers. 

Faulkner had rushed into the gridiron to 
carry on its shoulders its victorious eleven from 
the field. The defeated team gained their quar- 
ters almost unnoted. Paul knew that some one 
silently flung a blanket about him, knew that 
similar service had been done for the rest, knew 
that howls and rejoicing grew fainter behind 
him, heard Faulkner again cheering for St. 
Stephen’s, but somehow, nothing seemed real. 
After five years of steady victory they had lost 
and lost without even scoring. And he had cap- 
tained that team! Small satisfaction now to 
suspect that the coach at last agreed in his esti- 
mate of Patterson. 

Paul’s mind was in a whirl as he reached the 
Faulkner gymnasium but his lips were tight 
shut and his eyes were steady. Within, the 


126 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


played-out team had literally gone to pieces. 
Several men were actually crying with fatigue 
and nervous strain. At sight of his dejected 
comrades, Paul choked back his own depression. 
After all, most of them had done their best. It 
was for him to try to cheer them and he mounted 
the nearest bench. 

^ ‘ Fellows ! ’ ^ he began. ‘ ‘ Just a word. We Ve 
been badly licked. We tackled more than our 
match. Now, we’re up against it in more 
senses than one. But I want to say something 
to those of you who got into it for every ounce 
you were worth. You who played the whole 
game, you subs who came in on the second half, 
you who held them for this last quarter, — ^you 
needn’t feel that we’re wholly defeated. Any 
player who fights to the finish in a losing battle 
is worthy of respect. ’ ’ 

With a single exception, Paul had the atten- 
tion of his audience. Patterson, after one cool, 
amused look, continued dressing with ostenta- 
tious disregard of the captain. 

‘ ‘ Oh, cut it short, Arnold ! ” he interrupted at 
this point. ‘‘We none of us want a sermon.” 

“My remarks were not addressed to you, Pat- 
terson,” replied Paul in a voice that fairly 


THE FAULKNER GAME 127 

snapped. am speaking to those fellows 
who showed Faulkner that we could at least lose 
like gentlemen.^’ 

‘‘Right you are!^^ exclaimed Penrose, above 
murmurs of approval. “Three cheers for 
Cap!^^ 

Paul stepped down amid husky and hoarse 
applause. Behind him Mr. Bridges stood in 
the doorway, an unexpected witness of the 
scene. His eyes met PauPs with a glance that 
was wholly friendly. 

“Arnold has given you the good word,^’ he 
said abruptly. “No whimpering now. It was 
an object lesson to see an eleven dig into it as 
Faulkner did. You were up against a dandy 
team. Take your medicine and be glad you put 
up the best fight you could. It was something 
to have held them that last quarter. Con- 
gratulations to the four who won their S. They 
all deserved it. Now, get your showers and 
be quick about dressing. At this rate, the 
barge will be around before you are ready. ’ ’ 

The coaches crisp words dissipated whatever 
moral electricity was left in the atmosphere and 
heightened the etfect of the captain ^s speech. 
Paul discarded his football rig and washed his 


128 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


face while waiting a chance at the shower. In 
the intervals of his toilet, one player after an- 
other found a chance to say some slangily af- 
fectionate or sympathetic word. Patterson 
alone packed his suit-case and went out to the 
barge in disdainful silence. 

The special train preceded the regular one 
hearing the defeated team, but the school chose 
to remain at the Riverview station until the 
eleven arrived. When the stitf, weary, dis- 
heartened boys descended from the car, they 
were greeted by a thunder of applause lasting 
until each individual player had been cheered by 
name. 

This unexpected tribute was almost too much 
for those who had borne the burden of the strife. 
With lumps in their throats but gratitude in 
their hearts, they received their welcome home. 
The bitterness of defeat was somewhat less- 
ened when St. Stephen’s could still so acknowl- 
edge them. 


CHAPTER X 


IN THEi LIBEARY 

When the members of the Vergil class en- 
tered Mr. Barrows ’ recitation room on the Mon- 
day following that unlucky ball game, their in- 
structor surveyed them shrewdly through 
glasses hardly concealing an undeniable twinkle. 
Of the twenty students composing the division, 
eight belonged either to the first or second 
eleven. Weariness and disappointment were 
still written in their listless appearance. The 
rest, slowly settling to attention, also presented 
a decided Monday-morning demeanor. 

^‘Is everybody happy inquired Mr. Bar- 
rows after a few seconds of complete silence. 

Forty eyes instantly met his. Gradually, a 
responsive smile crept from face to face, leav- 
ing but two unmoved. On these, Mr. Barrows 
concentrated his gaze. 

^‘Is everybody happy T’ he repeated with 
equal solemnity. 

The amusement that again swept the class 

129 


130 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

broadened this time into a grin, engulfing at 
last both Paul and Patterson. 

‘‘Right!” pronounced Mr. Barrows briefly. 
“That’s a great improvement. Now, we’ll be- 
gin.” 

So far as Paul was concerned, the improve- 
ment was not lasting. Physically, he yet felt 
the effects of Saturday’s tussle, nor was his 
mental attitude either calm or contented. 

The Upper school usually learned any lesson 
assigned by Mr. Barrows. He had a snappy 
way of conducting a recitation that interested 
the boys, while disguising from the unsuspect- 
ing that he really exacted a high standard of 
excellence. “Barry,” though strict, was popu- 
lar, due to certain human qualities that made 
the lads forget that he was a master and regard 
him as one of themselves. 

To-day, he tactfully avoided pitfalls into 
which the dispirited players might stumble, 
called upon the bookworms of the class, allowed 
them to give brilliant exhibitions, himself dis- 
coursed at length upon the manners and cus- 
toms of ancient Latium, and finally dismissed 
the division with the same twinkle in his eye. 

“Barry’s a mighty good sort,” commented 


IN THE LIBRARY 


131 

Alex as he and Paul strolled leisurely across the 
campus on the way to their next recitation. 
‘‘He knew all you chaps were feeling rocky. 
To-morrow, you won’t get otf.” 

“Eight you are,” said Paul. “Patterson 
doubtless could have recited if he’d been called 
on. I’d like to smash his smug face in ! Every 
time I think of him and the way Faulkner went 
through our center I could slay him swiftly and 
silently. I’ll get even with him though. I’ll 
get that Chase prize or perish in the attempt. ’ ’ 

“How’s the essay going!” 

“Haven’t begun to write. Been getting my 
material together. I’ve decided to take the 
‘Conservation of Our Natural Resources.’ 
Uncle Court knows the Chief Forester and got 
him to send me some dandy stuff. If I can 
work it into shape, I ought to get somewhere. 
Funny, but the kid gave me one dinky idea. 
I’d thought of the subject as confined to things 
like forests and water-power. But Archer hap- 
pened to be there when I was looking over the 
truck from Washington. He asked a few hun- 
dred questions and then wanted to know why it 
didn’t mean animals, too. Of course it does. 
Look at the way our wild things are being killed 


132 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

off! Game and fish, and birds and all. That 
opened np a whole new line of thought for me. 
Think I’ll put in the afternoon working at the 
library. See you later. ’ ’ 

The library was an extremely pleasant place. 
Built on the plan of the older English schools, 
it consisted of a large room with high rafters 
and cross-beams of dark oak. Tall Gothic win- 
dows afforded plenty of light and gave a sense 
of space to the interior. Short stacks divided 
the walls into cozy alcoves with tables for 
students who wished more seclusion than was 
afforded by the larger ones down the center of 
the room. 

Shortly after three, Paul settled himself for 
an afternoon of earnest* work. His chosen 
table stood at one end of the library and com- 
manded a view qf the shallow alcoves on either 
side. Other workers were seated here and 
there, with boyish heads bent over serious 
tasks. In one alcove, two of the smaller lads 
were curled on a window-seat, absorbed in a 
volume of travel. 

Paul worked steadily for two hours, his at- 
tention strictly confined to his own immediate 
neighborhood, for he had long ago learned 


IN THE LIBRARY 


133 


the advantages of a concentrated mind. Hav- 
ing planned his framework to his satisfaction, 
•he leaned back in his chair for a moment’s rest. 
His eyes fell immediately upon a familiar yel- 
low head. In one of the nearer alcoves, Archer 
was leaning against the table, chatting in a 
most friendly way with the boy studying there. 

To Paul’s real consternation, the face look- 
ing into that of his small brother, yes, — even 
smiling, was Patterson’s! 

‘‘Of all the deviltry!” thought Paul. 
“Thinks he’ll get hold of Archer and hit me 
through him!” 

Many a football scrimmage had taught Paul 
to keep his temper under extraordinary circum- 
stances, but this was almost more than could 
be endured. The forceful tide of his rising 
anger actually startled him. He sat in furious 
silence, wondering what to do. Should he 
gather his books, leave the library and compel 
Archer to go with him? Or should he ignore 
the two until he could get his brother alone? 

This seemed the wiser plan. At no sacrifice 
would he give Patterson the satisfaction of see- 
ing he objected to his acquaintance with Archer. 
Probably Patterson, knowing Paul was there, 


134 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

had detained the little chap in passing, pur- 
posely to annoy his brother. 

With set teeth, Paul again bent over his scat- 
tered papers, resolutely resisting the tempta- 
tion to look up. Ten minutes passed before 
soft steps came to his elbow. 

^‘Alex told me you were here,’^ remarked 
Archer, leaning aver his arm. 

Paul looked up, not at his brother, but at Pat- 
terson ^s vacated seat. 

‘Tt^s beastly cheek of you to call him Alex,’’ 
he growled, seizing upon the slighter annoy- 
ance that presented itself. 

“He likes me to,” Archer replied, his blue 
eyes widening. “Paul,” he added coaxingly, 
“I wish you’d show me how to do an example 
in fractions.” 

“Well, I won’t!” said Paul so roughly that 
Archer drew back in amazement. ^ ^ Look here, 
what were you saying to Patterson? There’s 
just one fellow in this school that you’re to 
steer clear of, and that’s Patterson. I won’t 
have you tagging him around. What were you 
talking about?” 

Archer considered him with gravely re- 
proachful eyes. 


IN THE LIBRARY 


135 

‘T’m not sure that Patterson would like me 
to tell you/’ he replied with some dignity. 
‘‘But of course you won’t talk about it. I 
wasn’t tagging him either. He called me to 
tell me how pleased Nelly was with Patsy’s 
picture.” 

“Who on earth is Nelly?” Paul asked, the 
angry light in his eyes fading before this sur- 
prising remark. 

“She’s his little sister. She’s just as old as 
I am, but she has to stay in bed always because 
her back is queer. She never can walk nor 
ever be any better. Patterson told me about 
her because he says I look so much like her. 
He writes her a letter every single day and tells 
her all the things he thinks will interest her. 
So he wrote about my kitten. And Nelly drew 
a funny picture of the way she thought Patsy 
looked. It didn’t look much like him, so Pat- 
terson brought his camera and took a picture of 
Patsy and Boy Blue and me. Nelly was ever 
so much pleased. And when I go home, I’m 
going to ask Mother to let me send her a Christ- 
mas present.” 

Paul’s downcast face had turned crimson. 
Every word Archer spoke added to his humilia- 


136 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

tion; He could scarcely remember a time when 
be bad felt equally ashamed of bimself. To 
meet tbe candid blue eyes of bis small inquisi- 
tor seemed impossible. 

‘‘Wbat’s tbe matter, PaulT’ asked Archer 
tbe next moment. ‘‘You look all hot and 
funny. And why don’t you want me to talk to 
Patterson!” 

“You may, Archer,” Paul replied, bis better 
self coming to tbe front. “I didn’t under- 
stand. I’m sorry about Nelly. I never knew 
about ber.^’ 

“They bad a doctor come ’way from Europe 
to see her, but be couldn’t make her well. 
And sometimes her back hurts dreadfully. 
My, but she’s brave about it!” 

“All right, Archer. I didn’t mean to rag 
you, old fellow. Go ahead and talk with Pat- 
terson if you enjoy it. If be thinks of you 
and Nelly together, — he’s — ^well, you see I 
don’t know that side of him.” 

Archer lingered, vaguely disturbed by Paul’s 
still troubled face. “You could show me now 
about those fractions!” he suggested politely. 

Paul’s responding smile was slightly uncer- 
tain, but his answer left no room for doubt. 


IN THE LIBRARY 


137 

‘‘Bring on your wild horses!’^ he said, pushing 
his own work aside. 

Archer perched unreproved on the arm of the 
chair, listening intelligently to his brother’s 
concise explanation of principles involved. 
At its conclusion, he nodded his head gravely, 
took the pencil, screwed his tongue into one 
pink cheek and reduced the improper fractions 
to their correct solution. 

Paul watched the intent little face with di- 
vided feelings. To him, Archer stood for home, 
for Mother, for all the best and most sacred 
things in life, things that a fellow seldom re- 
ferred to in the every-day give and take of a 
busy school existence. One spoke of them only 
to fellows one knew best and then hut infre- 
quently. It suddenly dawned on Paul that 
each one of those three hundred hoys possessed 
another and unguessed side to his nature. 
Patterson, the cynical, the treacherous, wrote 
daily letters to a little invalid sister. At the 
thought, Paul’s face burned again. And here 
was Archer who somehow found only the good 
in other people and who had certainly found 
an unsuspected diamond in Patterson. 

Paul’s eyes grew soft as they watched the 


138 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

fatherless little brother. Archer was working 
quickly, for he was far from dull. Presently, 
head om one side, he contemplated his finished 
problem. 

‘‘Paul,’^ he remarked confidingly, ‘‘don^t you 
dislike Fridays ! I do, because we always have 
fish and spelling and I hate them both. And 
isn’t it a pity that it’s so impolite to use red 
ink?” 

‘‘Who said it was?” inquired the amused 
Paul. 

“Mr. Chapin.” With a sigh. Archer 
straightened himself. “I think red ink looks 
very cheerful so I bought a bottle. I was late 
to afternoon school and Chappy made me write 
twenty words out of the dictionary and what 
they mean. I did them very neatly with my 
red ink, and not all short words either. But 
when Chappy saw them, he threw up his hands 
and said I needn’t cheek him like that and I 
could write thirty more and do them in black.” 

“What happened then?” asked Paul, smiling 
at the earnestness of Archer’s manner. 

“I told him I thought red ink was so pretty 
and he told me not to be fresh. Then he looked 
at me hard and asked if I really expected him 


IN THE LIBRARY 


139 


to accept that imposition. Then he explained 
that it wasnT polite to use red ink for such 
things, that its use was a sacred privilege be- 
longing to the masters, but if I truly thought 
it was artistic and honestly didn’t mean to 
cheek him, he’d let it go for once. But I’m 
quite disappointed, because Boy Blue and I 
like it so much and it’s a whole bottle we can’t 
use. Do you think Mother would mind if I 
wrote her letters with it I” 

Paul gave an odd laugh. He and Archer 
were now wholly alone at the end of the dark- 
ening library. To Archer’s surprise, he was 
suddenly enveloped in a hug that threatened 
to crack his ribs. 

‘^Use it for Mother’s letters by all means. 
She won’t care if you write to her in sky-blue 
green ! ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XI 


A HALF-HOLIDAY 

After the defeat by Faulkner, Paul half ex- 
pected a scene of some kind with Patterson. 
Strange that a weak spot should suddenly de- 
velop in St. Stephen’s line where one had 
never before been suspected ; strange, too, that 
Patterson made no protest either to Paul or to 
Mr. Bridges. ' More than once, Paul found him- 
self wondering what Patterson had felt when 
the team descended at the Riverview station 
to be met by the loyal school. If Patterson 
really had been guilty of such treachery, how 
could he have endured being cheered by name ? 
If he had not before realized the extent of his 
betrayal, — if such it was,^ — that reception must 
have brought it home to him. 

The aftermath of the game was an athletic 
meeting that unanimously reelected Paul as 
captain for his senior year, unanimously, be- 
cause Patterson was absent. His non-appear- 
ance was not strange, for this was his last year 

140 


A HALF-HOLIDAY 


141 

at school and he really had no further interest 
in the eleven. Hotchkiss, Gay, and Lansing, 
who attended the meeting prepared to fight to 
a finish for Paul, were greatly disappointed to 
find no fighting necessary. 

This reelection and sincere congratulations 
from Mr. Bridges went far toward making 
Paul feel that no one blamed him personally for 
the first defeats in a long line of victories, and 
that he had come through a trying season with 
honor, if no glory. 

Alex, whose thoughtful brown eyes little 
escaped, was puzzled that his room-mate still 
seemed to feel bitter against Patterson. After 
one long talk, in which Paul had finally con- 
fided his unsettled suspicions, he had said 
nothing more, but worked over his prize essay 
with a kind of resentful determination that sur- 
prised Alex. Paul was usually too even-tem- 
pered and too broad-minded to lay things up 
against people. 

think,” said Alex one evening, ^Hhat I 
shall have to dub you with a new title.” 

‘‘What?” asked Paul lazily. Phil Lansing 
and Harry Hotchkiss completed the quartette 
lounging in Study 18. To some remark of 


142 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

Harry’s about the Chase prize, Paul had 
openly declared that he did not care who got 
it provided the winner be not Patterson. 

‘‘Paul of the G. G.,” said Alex slyly. 

“Green goggles? Gray goloshes?” sug- 
gested Harry. 

“Paul doesn’t wear glasses and dotes on 
having wet feet.” 

“Glad glances! Grinning girls!” put in 
Phil with a shout of laughter. 

“Graceful grimaces!” added Paul. 

“All off,” said Alex. “What were we talk- 
ing about?” 

“Why, the prize,” said Harry. “Paul said 
his essay was done and that he didn’t care a 
hang who got it if George Patterson, Esq., only 
got left.” 

“Paul of the G. G.,” repeated Alex gravely. 

“Great grudge? Glorious grouch?” asked 
Paul. 

“Whichever you choose,” replied his room- 
mate. 

tu, Brute ! declaimed Paul mournfully. 
“Come on, fellows!” 

He caught Alex around the neck and pulled 
him down on the couch. 


A HALF-HOLIDAY 


H3 

^‘Nice example for the House-president of 
Foster to start a rough-housed’ grinned Phil, 
but he willingly helped matters along. Harry, 
however, opened the door into the corridor. 
Suspicious sounds had caught his ear. 

‘‘Paul, there’s a water-fight going on up- 
stairs!” he exclaimed. 

Paul released the half-throttled Alex. Mr. 
Barrows was out and in his absence the duty 
of keeping order devolved on the House-presi- 
dent. 

“Come and see the fun!” said Phil, following 
Paul as he dashed up the steps leading to the 
third floor. “I love to hear St. Paul lay down 
the law. ’ ’ 

When Paul reached the scene of action he 
laughed in spite of himself. Two of the 
younger boys were indulging in a water-duel. 
Clad in pajamas, already soaked from head to 
foot, hair plastered down tightly, Scherstrom 
and Wrigley, known as “Shoestrings” and 
“Gum” presented an absurd appearance. 
Each was provided with a mug, and the pails 
supposed to be used only in case of fire, fur- 
nished a supply of water. Their laughing spec- 
tators were gathered at a safe distance, for 


144 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

floor and corridor walls were already drenched 
and dripping. 

‘‘Look here, Scherstrom!’’ said Paul, con- 
trolling his amusement. ‘ ‘ Cut it short, you and 
Wrigley. You’ve had your fun. Now get 
some sponges and mop the place up.” 

Dismay spread over the faces of the duelists. 
A roar went up from the spectators. 

“Oh, Arnold, you won’t make us do that!” 
implored Shoestrings, a round-faced hoy with 
an impudent snub-nose. 

“Hanged if I will!” declared Gum. 

“Oh, yes, you will, both of you!” said Paul 
quietly. 

The gathering crowd of on-lookers snickered 
again. Paul embodied authority and the two 
knew it. Should they refuse to obey him, it 
would mean being disciplined by the House 
committee and whatever penalty they decreed, 
Mr. Barrows would uphold. 

‘ ‘ Oh, well ! ’ ’ said Shoestrings. “ It ’s a giddy 
imposition, of course, but I suppose we might 
as well humor you, Arnold.” 

“Just as well,” agreed Paul imperturbably. 
With arms folded, he leaned against the wall, 
while the late combatants procured large bath- 


A HALF-HOLIDAY 


145 


sponges and, enlivened by jeers and advice 
from scoffing friends, proceeded to mop both 
walls and floor. 

‘‘You needn^t stay, Arnold,’^ suggested Shoe- 
strings with an impertinent grin. “You may 
get your feet wet.’’ 

“At any rate, they’re not getting cold,” re- 
plied Paul. 

This retort brought renewed gibes from the 
crowd, and Shoestrings, seeing there was no 
hope for him, began to work in earnest. 

“Put those pails back where you got them,” 
directed Paul when the corridor was no longer 
afloat. Gum obeyed. 

“Is that all?” inquired Shoestrings, letting 
fly his bath-sponge in the direction of his grin- 
ning companions. ‘ ‘ Oh, did that hit you, Lind- 
say ? What an unfortunate accident ! ’ ’ 

“Yes,” said Paul, “it was unfortunate. If 
Lindsay chooses. I’ll help him duck you. Clean- 
ing up isn’t quite so much fun, is it^ Better 
get into dry things. Good-night.” 

Paul departed, his quiet mastery of the situa- 
tion completely calming the turbulent spirits of 
the third floor. 

“If we’d only got into bed before Arnold 


146 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

turned up, he wouldn’t have known who did it,’’ 
complained Gum. 

“Yes, he would,” said Shoestrings. “He’d 
have looked in every room till he found two 
fellows who were wet and have dragged us 
out. It wouldn’t have done us any good if 
we’d really been in bed and sound asleep.” 

“To-morrow,” said Paul, returning to his 
room to find only Alex, “is a great day. It is 
Wednesday, ergo, a half -holiday. At twelve, 
I give to Barry my finished essay. At one, we 
lunch. At one-thirty, we take to the river, 
weather permitting, and loaf the whole after- 
noon.” 

“Agreed,” said Alex, “provided I may cor- 
rect proof for the Tnkstand.’ ” 

“You may, ’ ’ Paul conceded. ‘ ^ Look here, did 
you really mean that? G. G., you know?” 

“It wasn’t wholly a joke,’^ said Alex after a 
pause. “This isn’t like you, Paul. In any 
case. I’d rather he the injured party than the 
injurer. But, granted that Patterson has tried 
to injure you, I think you are in a position to 
he generous. I wish you didn’t care so much 
about defeating him in this matter of the Chase 
prize.” 


A HALF-HOLIDAY 


147 

‘ ^ Human nature is desperately wicked, ’ ’ said 
Paul, sitting down on the arm of Alex’s chair 
and twisting an arm around his neck. ‘‘You 
are the only fellow in school I’d let say that to 
me.” 

“I wish you didn’t,” repeated his friend ear- 
nestly. “You’ll say I’m a croaker, but some- 
times things cost too much. A prize can be 
won at the expense of things much more valu- 
able.” 

“Shall I tear up my essay?” asked Paul 
laughingly. 

“No, of course not! Hand it in. Only 
don’t feel as you do about Patterson. You 
don’t hnow that he tripped you or know 
whether he purposely let the line break. If he 
didn’t, you are doing him an injustice. If he 
did, he is beneath your contempt. And in 
either case, the injury to the school and the dis- 
loyalty is something more serious than his pay- 
ing off a private score.” 

Paul was silent. Alex seldom “preached,” 
seldom indeed, criticised at all. 

“You’re right about the school,” he admitted 
at length. “But I’ll try, old chap.” 

“Won’t the others go with us to-morrow?” 


148 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

Alex asked, breaking the reverie in which Paul 
seemed plunged. 

^^Phil and Harry are going into town. I 
didn^t want any one else. Have you run 
across Archer to-day? I haven’t seen him 
lately.” 

‘‘Yes,” said Alex. “Not to speak to. He 
seemed happy. ’ ’ 

A puzzled line appeared on Alex’s forehead 
as he spoke. It could do no possible good to 
tell Paul that he had passed Archer, walking 
and talking in a most friendly manner with Pat- 
terson. 

The anticipated afternoon proved wonder- 
ful for the time of year. December seemed to 
have stolen a day from June. The boys were 
actually too hot as they launched the canoe and 
were presently paddling with coats discarded 
and shirt sleeves rolled. Trees were leafless, 
meadows were brown, but the river was wholly 
free from ice and the warm sunshine lent the 
illusion of a different season. 

It was possible to go ten miles upstream be- 
fore coming to a carry and the boys paddled 
fully seven before turning to drift idly back. 
Paul was feeling nonsensically happy. The 


A HALF-HOLIDAY 


149 


essay over which he had worked so faithfully 
was in Mr. Barrows’ hands, school would close 
in just one week for the Christmas holidays and 
no compelling duties threatened for the morrow. 
But after a while a silence fell upon them as 
they floated down the river." Occasionally Alex 
whistled softly or Paul hummed a tune, hut for 
most of the time both were too contented 
even to speak. The unseasonable weather had 
brought out a few turtles and sunlight reflected 
from their shiny backs made them points- of 
light in the distance. About the swampy mead- 
ows muskrats were building. 

‘^This is all blissful,” said Alex at length, 
‘‘but from my pocket the ‘Inkstand’ proof is up- 
braiding me. Let’s beach the canoe and sit by 
that stone wall up in the edge of the woods.” 

Paul agreed and grounded the canoe on the 
bank designated. In the shelter of the wall he 
settled himself to read while Alex worked over 
the printer’s slips. His book proved absorb- 
ing for it was long since he had had the leisure 
to read for amusement alone. An hour passed. 
Alex completed his task, rolled up his proof and 
began to write a letter. Suddenly he looked up. 

From the other side of the wall came the 


150 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

sound of stealthy steps and crackling leaves. 
Paul, intent on his story, did not notice. 

^Fifteen men on the dead man^s chest, 

Yo ho ! and a bottle of rum !’ ” 

At this Paul pricked up his ears for the 
ferocious chorus was led by an extremely 
sweet little voice. The next moment, three 
small boys popped over the wall, wearing black 
masks and brandishing home-made wooden 
swords. They were followed by a fourth who 
landed almost on top of Paul. 

^‘WhaPs thisT^ Paul inquired. ‘‘Archer, 
what are you doing here T ’ he demanded, catch- 
ing the small person who had stumbled over 
him. “You Te out of bounds again ! ^ ^ 

“Of course,^’ said Archer calmly, taking off 
his mask as he spoke. “We are playing 
pirates. We couldnT he pirates unless we 
were out of bounds.’^ 

The finality with which he presented this per- 
fectly plausible explanation convulsed Alex, and 
for a moment rather staggered Paul. 

“You young reprobate!’^ he growled. 
“You canT catch me with your chaff. Now, 
Archer, this going out of bounds has got to 
stop.^^ 


A HALF-HOLIDAY 


151 

inquired Archer politely, casting a 
glance after Bryan, Donald, and Tommy, who 
were out of sight and presumably in safety. 
‘^We were just going back.” 

‘‘You wonT go until IVe got through with 
you,” threatened Paul, holding the culprit 
firmly before him. ‘‘Remember what I told 
you when I caught you by the river? Well, 
I’m going to do it. You’ll get a licking now.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, go easy ! ’ ’ drawled Alex. “ He ’s pretty 
little. Spank him if you must but don’t lick 
him.” 

Paul relented. Archer did look so small and 
helpless and his big eyes were round and 
startled. “All right,” he assented. “I 
reckon a spanking will do the business.” 

“Paul, you’ve no right to do it!” ex- 
postulated Archer. “You ’re a beast ! ’ ’ 

“Anything you choose,” agreed his brother, 
proceeding to administer the promised punish- 
ment. Archer took it without a whimper, hut 
the instant he was released, withdrew a few 
paces and glowered angrily. 

“Listen,” said Paul kindly. “I did it be- 
cause I said I should. Don’t go out of hounds 
again. Now shake hands with me.” 


152 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘T won’t!’’ exploded Archer. ‘T hate you, 
Paul ! I’ll get even with you for this. I won’t 
shake hands and I ’ll go out of bounds whenever 
I darn please ! ’ ’ 

With the last word, Archer turned and fled. 
Had Paul wished to catch him he would have 
found the chase long after the start Archer had 
secured. But Paul was too much surprised to 
pursue. 

‘‘Well, did you ever!” he exclaimed and then 
joined sheepishly in Alex’s unconcealed and 
delighted amusement. 

“Gabriel is evoluting all right enough,” 
chuckled Alex. “Plucky little chap! On the 
whole, I’m rather glad he sassed you, old fel- 
low.” 

‘'The idea of his saying that! Archer!” 

“It did sound a hit incongruous from Ga- 
briel’s tongue, but all the same I like him for 
being so spunky. Now, own up, don’t you?” 

“Oh, he’s spunky, — ^I don’t mind that,” as- 
sented Paul, looking across the valley. Archer 
had slackened his pace on the opposite slope, 
but even at that distance they could see that 
the erect carriage of his slender body 
and proud little head had not lessened. But 


A HALF-HOLIDAY 


153 

just before be disappeared into the grove be- 
low the summit, one arm went up across his 
eyes. 

^‘Poor little beggar!’^ said Alex sympathetic- 
ally. course he couldn’t be a pirate and 

stay in bounds ! ’ ’ 

didn’t mean him to get away until I made 
him own he deserved it and got him to shake 
hands,” observed Paul regretfully. ‘‘Then he 
wouldn’t have cared so much. Well, he’ll be 
all right to-morrow. Archer is so sweet-tem- 
pered that he never holds a grudge. ’ ’ 

“He will be sweet if he gets over it that 
soon,” said Alex. “I’d give him a little 
longer.” 

Paul looked uncomfortably at the spot where 
the boyish figure had disappeared. He was 
stirred by an impulse to follow and by a judi- 
cious mixture of petting and reproof coax 
Archer into immediate reconciliation. But the 
impulse was overpowered by indolence, pure 
disinclination to move from his lazy enjoyment 
of the unseasonable sunshine. Where was the 
need? Archer would be “all right” to-mor- 
row. 

Archer, choking with rage and humiliation, 


154 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

gained Clarke House unchallenged. He stole 
through the deserted halls to his room and con- 
fided his sorrows to Patsy, curled on the win- 
dow-seat. He had held himself in check so long 
that his tears, wholly of anger, soon became 
those of dejection and misery. Had Paul ap- 
peared at this psychological moment, forgiving 
and affectionate little Archer would have 
‘^made up’’ in an instant. Patsy tasted a tear 
and patted a soft paw on his cheek but no other 
comfort came. Presently a keen sense of re- 
sentment routed Archer’s dejection. He rose, 
washed his face and dressed. Yes, without 
doubt, he would find a way to ‘‘get even” with 
Paul! 


CHAPTER XII 


VESPEES 

Paul did not see his little brother again until 
choir rehearsal on Friday evening. Except at 
chapel they seldom met unless by design, for 
the Lower school was purposely kept by itself 
as much as possible. When Archer chose to 
avoid Paul and Paul made no effort to look 
Archer up, they might as well have lived on 
ditferent planets as far as any intercourse was 
concerned. 

The rest of his half-holiday had not proved 
thoroughly enjoyable to Paul. He felt that 
Alex disapproved of his fraternal discipline 
and though he still thought it excusable, wanted 
some assurance that sweet-tempered Archer 
bore him no grudge. 

Mr. Carter called the choir to attention just 
as Paul entered. The rehearsal was for the 
last vesper service before the Christmas holi- 
days and the music was chiefly quaint old 
anthems and carols. Archer, as usual, had a 

155 


156 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

solo, and the organist not only kept him at his 
elbow during the hour but detained him after 
the others had gone. Paul waited outside for a 
few moments hut the night was cold and he 
finally gave it up. During the entire rehearsal 
he thought that Archer avoided looking at him. 
He hated to have the Imp cherish any ill-will 
against him. But just the same, he wasn’t go- 
ing to make any further advance himself, — 
kicking his heels in the snow for fifteen minutes 
was quite enough. 

At vespers on Sunday, Archer sang his solo, 
sang it with the pure, perfectly passionless 
voice of a child. Even to those who had grown 
accustomed to the beauty of his music, it seemed 
that “little Gabriel” had never sung so well. 

After service, Mr. Carter remained as usual 
to play the organ for half an hour. To-night, 
there would be Christmas selections and as soon 
as he could do so, Paul slipped in at the back 
of the chapel. Not many of the boys had gone, 
and all lights were out except one by the key- 
board of the organ. The dimly illuminated 
church showed mysterious shadows in its 
raftered roof. Faint odors of evergreen and 
pine came from festooned arches. 


VESPERS 


157 


Friends were doubtless present in numbers 
but it was bard to distinguish faces in the soft 
gloom, and every boyish figure was already si- 
lent in attention. Paul slid into a vacant pew 
at the rear, conscious immediately of the spell 
of beauty and peace cast by the music. 

The swinging door into the vestibule opened 
and shut noiselessly. Looking up, Paul saw a 
little figure at the end of his seat. No need to 
recognize it by yellow head or rough Mackinaw 
coat, its alert poise betrayed its identity. For- 
getting the pose of inditference decided upon as 
due to his own dignity, Paul held out a welcom- 
ing hand. 

That he might receive a rebuff had appar- 
ently never entered Archer ^s head. He 
dropped his jacket on the seat, inserted him- 
self within the circle of the extended arm as 
though he had last parted with Paul on the 
best of terms and settled close to listen. 

‘‘Here come the camels humping along,” he 
whispered softly. “And, oh, don^t you love the 
Christmas star!” 

The camels “humped” their way to Bethle- 
hem and departed; the star sang its song to 
the glorious end, but the music was only a dis- 


158 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

tant background for PauPs meditations. In 
the warm silence of the dim chapel, with his 
chin resting on Archer’s hair, he was thinking 
more humbly than brilliant, ambitious Paul ,Ai*- 
nold often thought. 

What did that lost football game matter after 
all? Was it not the personal element that 
loomed so large in his mortification over de- 
feat? The school would go on, there would be 
other games, ten years from now no one would 
remember who had been captain in that last in- 
glorious battle. But every year Christmas 
would come with its message of peace and good 
will ; every year the wise men would journey to 
Bethlehem and the star repeat its song. 

And here was Archer, who had been singing 
so divinely not twenty minutes ago. Archer, 
who didn’t bear him any grudge for the other 
day, who was always so sure that people were 
friendly and in consequence found a friend in 
every one. 

Being so much older, Paul’s interests had 
never clashed with those of the little brother, 
of whom, to use his own phrase, he was ri- 
diculously” fond. Nor was he blind to the un- 
questioning adoration Archer bore him. But 


VESPERS 


159 


now, with the Christmas music softly filling the 
dusky chapel, Paul admitted to himself that 
Archer was more than a playmate, an amusing 
comrade for an idle hour. There was some- 
thing fine in Archer, fine in the truest sense of 
the word, some subtle personal quality that 
Archer ^s older brother didnT seem to possess. 
Not a boy in Upper or Lower school passed 
Archer without a smile or a pleasant word. 
And this after one term ! There were a num- 
ber of fellows who had no use for the captain 
of the eleven. 

Paul remembered his prophecy concerning 
the little brother’s development in toughness. 
Had it not worked the other way? Archer 
was still gentle, still kept unchanged his quaint 
politeness. He talked a great deal, did the 
Imp, but even after all these weeks at school, 
employed singularly little slang. His precise 
use of language was due largely to his musical 
training, to a nice sense of words gained from 
wide acquaintance with sacred music, but the 
effect produced on others seemed remarkable. 
Whenever Archer was present, the older fel- 
lows were more careful what they said and 
how they said it. Having affectionately dubbed 


i6o ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


him Gabriel, they apparently wished him to 
remain in character. 

Of course, he had one great gift — ^his re- 
markable voice — and through that he influ- 
enced many who listened with no thought of 
envy or emulation. But it wasn’t all the music 
nor his engaging ways, it was something in- 
herent in Archer himself. 

‘T suppose,” Paul thought in genuine hu- 
mility, ‘‘that the school rates me as one of the 
most popular fellows. I know most of the 
chaps like me. Some of them envy my stand- 
ing. It is true that so far, I’ve won every 
honor I set out to get, except those games. 
But when Archer’s my age, the school will like 
him in a way they’ve never liked me. He 
won’t go in for athletics and he won’t work 
for honors, and he won’t care a rap whether he 
ever gets any. He only wants people to love 
him and they’ll keep on doing that without his 
even trying to make ’em. There’s that old 
sourball, Patterson. Even he understands 
that Archer is different. And if those two can 
have common ground it means that Patterson 
has got something in him worth liking. I won- 


VESPERS i6i 

der if he did trip me, if he deliberately let 
Faulkner through ! I wish — ” 

The music, growing gradually louder and 
more insistent, here forced itself upon PauPs 
attention. Under his breath. Archer was sing- 
ing with the organ : ‘ ‘ King of Kings and Lord 
of Lords ! King of Kings and Lord of Lords ! 

The chorus ended in a final ecstasy of jubi- 
lant chords, succeeded by silence. Lights 
flashed up over the chapel, boyish forms roused 
themselves from relaxed attitudes, or disen- 
tangled intertwined arms from Laocdon-like 
groups. 

‘‘There certainly was some class to that 
music, ’’ said Archer reflectively. “I think I’ll 
go and tell Mr. Carter how much I liked it.” 

Paul smiled. Whether or not his small 
brother repeated his appreciation in the exact 
words just spoken, Mr. Carter would receive 
the tribute as man to man, from one musician 
to another. 

Archer gathered coat and cap and theu 
turned. “Paul,” he said coaxingly, “you 
didn’t have to do it over yet, did you? I don’t 
care now; I truly don’t.” 


i 62 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


‘‘What are you talking about T’ Paul asked, 
quite at sea, but Archer had caught sight of the 
organist about to leave his instrument. For- 
getting everything except his desire to speak to 
Mr. Carter, he hastened down the aisle. 


CHAPTEE XIII 


THE CHINA CAT 

Paul was whistling happily as he collected his 
clean collars. In the center of the study stood 
a half-filled steamer-trunk; Alex in his bedroom 
was packing a suit-case, and all these prepara- 
tions indicated that school would close next day 
for the Christmas vacation of three weeks. 

‘‘I told Archer to bring his things over here,’’ 
said Paul, breaking off in his tune. ‘^Thought 
there was no need of our taking more than one 
trunk. I wish he ’d get a move on. ’ ’ 

‘‘He’s coming,” replied Alex, glancing from 
the window. “Archer and Boy Blue, both 
loaded down.” 

“If he’s brought a lot of stuff he can jolly 
well sort it out. Does he think I’m traveling 
with a Saratoga?” 

“Indeed, I haven’t a thing here I won’t 
need,” protested Archer in reply to Paul’s re- 
monstrance at sight of their laden arms. 

“I reckon I’ll be the judge of that,” decreed 
163 


i 64 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

his brother. ‘ ‘ W ell, you are no centipede, — you 
don’t need so many shoes. Think you’ll wear 
this white suit? What in creation is 

Paul stopped, truly aghast before a huge 
china cat carefully deposited upon the floor by 
Bryan. More than life-size, colored to resemble 
no known species, it glared diabolically from 
round green glass eyes. 

‘Tt’s my Christmas present for Mother,” Ar- 
cher explained proudly. He and Boy Blue both 
cast admiring glances at this triumph of ke- 
ramic art. 

After one moment of speechless incredulity, 
Paul sat down in the nearest chair. 

‘‘Archer Arnold, do you mean to say you — 
you bought that atrocity?” he finally gasped. 

“Why not?” asked Archer, turning surprised 
eyes upon him. 

Alex, overhearing a sort of groan from Paul, 
looked from his room, saw the cat and the seri- 
ous children, gave one glance at Paul’s face and 
sank limply upon the couch. 

“Mother will like it,” went on Archer. 
“Bryan and I thought it would look so nice by 
the open fire in the library.” 



“What in creation is that? — Page 164 




THE CHINA CAT 


165 

A vision of the library that had been his 
father’s pride rose before Paul’s mind. He 
could see the book-lined shelves, the fine pic- 
tures, the beautiful old mahogany furniture 
glowing in the firelight. One big leather chair 
always held two very comfortably, and what 
entrancing stories had there been told to a little 
boy ! Archer had been only three when Father 
died ; he did not know about the stories. And in 
contrast to the library and all it stood for, — 
that appalling china cat ! 

‘^Mother will not like it!” said Paul, his de- 
termination deepened by his room-mate ’s appar- 
ent agony. ‘‘At least,” he added, relenting 
at sight of the disappointment dawning on Ar- 
cher’s angelic face, “if she does, it will be only 
because you got it for her. Since you and Boy 
Blue both think it so beautiful, why don’t you 
give it to Clarke House ? It can sit by the fire 
and you can see it every day.” 

“We have Patsy,” explained Bryan. “We 
don’t need it.” 

“I bought it for Mother,” Archer repeated, 
his eyes slowly filling. 

“Oh, Jerusalem!” exclaimed Paul. “All 


i66 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


right, Archer. But I don^t see how you can 
take it. It won’t go in any suit-case and it’s too 
high for the trunk.” 

‘T can carry it in my arms,” suggested his 
brother hopefully. 

‘‘You will not!” replied Paul. “I won’t 
travel with it. Nothing will induce me to have 
it along.” 

Archer was silent. To him the cat was a 
marvelous work of art. Ever since he and 
Bryan discovered its charms lurking upon the 
top shelf of the village store he had coveted it 
as a gift for his mother. His allowance for a 
whole month had gone toward its purchase. It 
represented genuine self-denial in the form of 
candy and ice-cream. 

“I bought it for Mother,” he said again after 
a pause. “Won’t you let me take it, Paul?” 

Something in his wistful face or the gentle 
dignity of his tone, softened Paul’s outraged 
feelings. He could not put himself in Archer’s 
place and admire the fearful beast, but his own 
atfection told him that Mrs. Arnold would tol- 
erate the funny gift. 

“We can’t take it on the sleeper, Archer,” 
he said decidedly but more kindly. “Find one 


THE CHINA CAT 


167 

of the janitors, — Dennis, if you can, — and ask 
him to pack it for you. He ’d better put it in a 
barrel of excelsior. Tell him to ship it by ex- 
press and send the bill to me.’’ 

^^Oh, that’s good!” exclaimed Archer joy- 
fully. ‘Tt can’t get broken then. I was so 
afraid I might drop it.” 

‘Tt will get broken if it stays in the same 
room with me,” muttered Paul. “Yes, I’m 
sure it will get there on time. I’ll bank on its 
arriving if nothing else ever does! But, Ar- 
cher, don’t you buy any more Christmas pres- 
ents for Mother without consulting me.” 

Clasping the cat in both arms. Archer de- 
parted, followed by Bryan. Paul turned a 
flushed face upon his room-mate. 

“Isn’t that kid the limit?” he growled de- 
spairingly. “Can’t you imagine my mother 
when he springs that terrible monstrosity upon 
her? And it will sit by the fire, exactly where 
he wants it, and grin the whole vacation ! ’ ’ 

“It is fierce!” agreed the laughing Alex, 
leaning back among the pillows. “I couldn’t 
just see you traveling with that animal, but you 
were up against it with Gabriel looking like a 
grieved cherub. You squeezed out of the diffi- 


i68 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


culty very cleverly. Sometimes, I rather like 
you, Paul! 

The Christmas holidays had not been antici- 
pated by the boys alone. Mrs. Arnold, count- 
ing every day, counted every hour as the one ap- 
proached that would bring her sons. To have 
Paul away was a test of courage that usage had 
made endurable, but she could not as yet adjust 
herself to Archer’s absence. Only a firm belief 
that it was for his good had induced her to part 
with him. Nothing but the conviction of pro- 
nounced improvement would persuade her to 
allow him to return. 

She was on the platform to meet the train, 
a slender, beautifuUy-dressed woman, looking 
less than her forty years. Time had not sil- 
vered her hair, her face was fresh and young, 
and its expression betrayed the source of Ar- 
cher’s lovely smile. She had early discarded 
her widow’s garb, saying bravely that her boys 
should not be saddened by black garments. 

Paul looked down the platform as he left the 
car but his glance missed his mother. Archer, 
from the top step of the sleeper, saw her face 
and breast-knot of violets, gave one delighted 


THE CHINA CAT 169 

squeal, abandoned bis suit-case to the mercy of 
any chance passer and sprinted for her. 

^‘Wish that had been the china cat,’^ thought 
Paul as he hailed a porter and followed, less im- 
petuously but no less eagerly. When he 
reached his mother. Archer was still clutching 
her as though fearful she would vanish before 
his eyes. 

‘^Here, let me have a chance!^’ said Paul, 
laughing at the picture, for Mrs. Arnold’s hat 
was askew, Archer had lost his completely and 
his yellow head was burrowed deep into furs 
and violets. 

‘‘Paul!” said his mother, looking up with 
smiling eyes dimmed by affectionate tears. 
“Archer darling, let me kiss Paul.” 

‘ ‘ Only once. Mother ! ’ ’ said Archer firmly. 

“Well, haven’t you the cheek!” laughed Paul, 
meeting Mrs. Arnold’s amused glance. “She 
was my mother long before you had any claim 
on her. ’ ’ 

Archer talked a steady stream until they 
reached the house where the old colored cook 
and butler greeted them as only southern serv- 
ants can greet the home-coming children of the 


170 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

family. After dinner, a meal into which as 
many favorite dishes of both had been crowded 
as could he forced within its limits, Paul left Ar- 
cher to have his full share of cuddling and him- 
self ran over to see his uncle. 

No one was at home. Paul paid a visit to the 
stable. One of the horses there was his own, a 
gift from Uncle Court on his fourteenth birth- 
day. Firefly had not forgotten his master and 
greeted him with a joyful whinny. Paul lin- 
gered a few moments to pet the beautiful Ken- 
tucky thoroughbred and promise him a fine gal- 
lop on the morrow. After some chat with his 
uncle’s groom, he returned to his own home. 

Mrs. Arnold was sitting in the big chair be- 
fore the library fire with Archer on her lap and 
lounging opposite, twisting a delightfully fra- 
grant cigar in his fingers, was his uncle. 
Seated between them was Antoinette, Uncle 
Court’s only child. 

‘‘Hello, Tony!” exclaimed Paul, hailing her 
joyfully. “Uncle Court, I’m jolly glad to see 
you again. I must have gone one way round 
the square while you were coming the other.” 

“Well, how goes it, Paul?” asked his uncle 
affectionately. He had always been fond of his 


THE CHINA CAT 171 

nephews, but after his brother ^s death, when he 
found a little lad of ten completely overwhelmed 
with grief and the terrible responsibility of a 
promise just made to his dying father to ^Hake 
care of Mother and Archer,’’ Paul had been 
doubly dear to him. As for Paul, words could 
not express his loyalty to the uncle who had 
comforted his great sorrow and promised al- 
ways to share that charge and to help him fulfill 
it. Mrs. Arnold did not wholly understand this 
bond. At times, she felt that her brother-in-law 
was unappreciative of Archer’s equal claim to 
his affection. 

Antoinette jumped up to greet her cousin. 
She was a tall girl with a graceful boyish fig- 
ure. 

‘‘Tony, you’ve been growing up!” said Paul 
accusingly after the first glance. “Your 
dresses are down, and your hair — Tony, you 
haven’t put up your hair?” 

Antoinette laughed, pulled out four pins and 
shook a mass of wavy brown hair about her 
piquant little face. 

“Mother thinks I should put it up now. Dad 
doesn’t! He takes it down when we’re alone. 
Oh, Paul, will you ride with me to-morrow?” 


172 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘^Sure, will IP’ assented Paul. “What 

timer’ 

Antoinette eagerly appealed to her father. 
“Could you go too if we wait until afternoon?” 

Mr. Arnold shook his head. ‘ ‘ I doubt if I can 
ride at all to-morrow, so go when you choose. 
Paul, I’ve been using your horse more or less. 
I thought it better not to leave him entirely to 
a groom.” 

“Before breakfast, then?” inquired Antoi- 
nette, turning to her cousin. 

“Great Scott!” replied Paul. “Tony, I’ve 
piled out of bed at seven every morning except 
Sunday this whole term. I simply loathe the 
sight of the figure seven on a clock-face! My 
idea of a real vacation is to let my watch run 
down.” 

“We’ll say two in the afternoon,” proposed 
Antoinette gravely. 

“I’ll be out by eleven,” retorted Paul. 
“Let’s start right after lunch and go as far as 
we please. ’ ’ 

“Mumsey?” put in Archer sleepily. “Have 
wafiles for breakfast. You know, Paul will get 
up to eat waffles.” 

“So will Archer,” teased Tony. “Archer, 


THE CHINA CAT 


173 

you darling, I think you might come and hug me 
for a little while. 

To-morrow,’^ responded Archer, giving her 
one of his charming smiles. ‘ ‘ Mother wants to 
hug me to-night. ’ ’ 

“What is Mother going to do when you grow 
too big to sit on her lapT^ asked his cousin. 

“Then I’ll be too big for yours, too, Tony,” 
said Archer sweetly. “But I’ll not be too big 
so long as Mother wants me.” The sentence 
ended in an undeniable yawn. 

“Come, sonny, let’s go to bed,” said Mrs. 
Arnold. “There are three weeks of vacation 
ahead of us. Yes, indeed, I’m coming to tuck 
you in.” 

Archer relented and gave Antoinette a hug 
before he went out, his arm still clasped around 
his mother’s waist. 

“Aunt Elinor is so lovely with Archer,” said 
Tony softly, her eyes following them. “He’s a 
dear, but she is just sweet! Paul, has Archer 
got into funny scrapes? And don’t they all 
adore him?” 

“I don’t think he’s done anything very re- 
markable,” replied Paul. “They keep the kids 
pretty busy and look after them closely. Ar- 


174 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

cher hasn’t had much chance to get into trouble. 
Yes, everybody likes him, and they immediately 
dubbed him Gabriel. The fellows don’t know 
just what he is going to say or do, so they stand 
around and watch. Tony, you’ll explode when 
you see what that child has for Mother’s Christ- 
mas gift.” 

Paul told the tale, doing full justice to Ar- 
cher’s choice. ‘T can’t imagine how he ever 
came to admire it, ’ ’ he ended. ^ ^ As a rule, the 
kid has rather good taste and knows when 
things are ugly. But he fell down flat on this. 
I’m relying on you, Tony, to tumble over that 
cat, or sit on it or somehow demolish it before 
another vacation. ’ ’ 

‘T’ll do my best,” said Tony gravely. 
‘‘We’ll have to stand it now, hut before you 
come back again, I’ll try to disable it. Oh, 
Paul, Mother’s letting me have a dance on the 
day after Christmas, and the Kildeanes are hav- 
ing one, and Aunt Elinor is planning one for 
you and a children’s party for Archer. And 
we’ll have such rides with Nixie and Firefly! 
Dad says he’ll take us to the theater and we 
can go motoring. Oh, these will be the nicest 
holidays!” 


THE CHINA CAT 


175 

Paul gave a long sigh of content. Sounds 
great, Tony. Nothing like home, after all! I 
haven T had my fair chance at Mother yet, but 
it^s good just to get here.^’ 

‘‘How did you come out with that essay 
asked his uncle. ‘ ‘ Did you get the stuff I asked 
them to send r’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes. Uncle, it was no end of help. I had 
a dandy lot of material. I donT know, of 
course, whether any one else wrote on the same 
subject, but thanks to you, I’m sure that nobody 
had better references to work from. I did plug 
like the dickens over that essay but it suited me 
when it was done. Yes, it’s off my hands and 
off my mind, too, till we hear from the judges, 
some time next term.” 

“You feel that it stands a chance of getting 
the prize?” 

“I’m pretty sure it does. Uncle,” said Paul 
after a pause. “There is only one other fellow 
who is as likely to get it, and he won’t if my 
best is as good as I think it is. I don’t care who 
does have it, if only it isn’t he.” 

The tone was a trifle bitter, and Paul’s face 
had an expression his uncle had never seen there 
before. His keen eyes noted this, and saw in 


176 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

addition far more than Paul had any idea he 
was betraying. 

‘‘How I hope you ^11 get it!^^ said Antoinette 
enthusiastically. “I^m certain you will.’’ 

Mr. Arnold made no comment and continued 
to putf his cigar leisurely but the rather search- 
ing look he gave his nephew was capable of more 
than one interpretation. 

“Archer is the same old darling,” said An- 
toinette as she and her father strolled the two 
blocks to their own home. “He hasn’t lost one 
of his sweet ways. But Paul is different. ’ ’ 
“Paul, like Tony, is growing up,” replied Mr. 
Arnold. 

“That’s not all!” retorted Tony wisely. 
“Something has made Paul unhappy.” 

“Do you really think so?” inquired her 
father. “What an astute little person it is! 
Well, do your best to make Paul have the pleas- 
antest possible vacation.” 


CHAPTER XIV 




CHRISTMAS 

Paul was awakened on Christmas morning 
by his excited small brother, invading his room 
at an early hour. 

Merry Christmas, Paul! Do get up.’^ 

‘ ‘ Get up ? It ’s night yet, ’ ’ said Paul sleepily. 

‘‘Oh, you’re mistaken!” reproved Archer. 
“It’s ten minutes to seven.” 

Paul groaned. “Don’t you say that word to 
me again this vacation ! ’ ’ 

“Seven? But it’s a nice time on Christmas 
morning. Please get up, Paul. You know we 
can’t see our presents until after breakfast.” 

“There isn’t any breakfast to eat at this 
hour.” 

“But Aunt Rosa will hurry it if she hears 
us,” begged Archer. “And I want you to help 
me. You’re going to put your present for 
Mother on her plate, aren’t you? I want mine 
on the table, too.” 

Paul hid his face in his pillow. Archer, feel- 
177 


178 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

ing a little chilly, calmly got into his brother's 
bed. 

‘T’m afraid I can’t lift it so high without up- 
setting things, so I want you to do it for me,” 
he explained, cuddling close to Paul. ‘‘It’s un- 
packed. Henry took it out of the barrel yes- 
terday. He liked it and he said he was sure 
Miss Elinor would. Do you know, I never 
thought it was funny for the servants to call 
Mother ‘Miss’ but they don’t call married ladies 
so in Riverview. Paul, don’t you think 
Mother’ll like my present?” 

It was Christmas morning and Archer’s tone 
was wistful. Paul emerged from his pillow. 

“Yes, old fellow, I’m sure she will,” he said 
cordially. “Mothers always like things, and 
we ’ve the nicest mother in the whole world, you 
know. ’ ’ 

“Haven’t we!” agreed Archer. “Paul, 
don’t you like to fight with piUows? We had a 
fight last week at school, but a pillow got broken 
and Mrs. Holmes didn’t feel very pleased about 
it. Patsy did. He loves feathers and for once 
he had more than he could play with. Oh, 
Mother’s coming! Don’t tell her I’m here.” 

Archer dove under the bedclothes. “Merry 


CHRISTMAS 


179 

Christmas!’’ called Paul, as a step paused at 
his door. 

‘‘Merry Christmas!” said Mrs. Arnold, look- 
ing in. “I thought I heard Archer’s voice,” 
she added, coming to kiss Paul, who promptly 
enveloped her in loving arms and drew her to a 
seat on the bed. There was a sudden upheaval 
of blankets and Mrs. Arnold was nearly throt- 
tled by an embrace from behind. 

“Merry Christmas!” shouted Archer. “I 
was here ! You look like a little girl with your 
hair in braids. Oh, Mother, won’t you wear it 
so? Come to breakfast with it that way. I love 
it ! Ask her to, Paul ! ’ ’ 

“You don’t look a day older than Tony,” said 
Paul admiringly. ‘ ‘ Let it stay so for breakfast. 
We want you to.” 

Mrs. Arnold actually blushed. “You funny 
boys!” she said. “All right. Archer, I’ll come 
to breakfast with it over my shoulders but you’ll 
let me do it up for church?” 

“I’ll see,” said Archer mischievously. 
“And when will breakfast be ready? Oh, 
Mother, something is going to surprise you so ! ” 

“I’ve asked Aunt Rosa to get breakfast at 
once. It will be ready as soon as we are.” 


i8o ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


Archer bounced off the bed. ^ ‘ I must hurry, ’ ’ 
he said. ‘Tt’s important. Paul, you will get 
up and help me, won’t you? Mother, I might 
walk back to your room with you and then Paul 
will get up.” 

Both mother and brother laughed. ‘^Cut 
along yourself, ’ ’ said Paul. ‘ T ’ll get up in two 
minutes.” 

Archer disappeared, a little blue streak head- 
ing for his room and Paul turned to Mrs. Ar- 
nold. 

^‘Mother, do you remember when I was about 
the kid’s age I gave you a birthday present of 
a fearful brass breastpin!” 

Mrs. Arnold’s eyes brimmed with laughter. 
‘‘Set with a red glass stone two inches long! 
I have it yet.” 

“And you wore it, like the angel you are, and 
never let me know what agony you suffered!” 

“It wasn’t exactly agony,” protested Mrs. 
Arnold. “You gave it to me, you see.” 

Paul kissed her. “I just wanted to warn 
you,” he said. “Archer has tried his hand at 
that trick. I knew you would rise to the occa- 
sion but if you can help it, don’t even look sur- 
prised. You see, I wa« rash enough to express 


CHRISTMAS 


i8i 

a doubt whether you’d like it, so the kid will be 
suspicious. And it’s likely to — to sort of hit 
you in the face the moment you go into the 
dining-room.’^ 

‘T’ll be prepared,” said his mother. “I’m 
glad you warned me, for I wouldn’t hurt Ar- 
cher’s feelings for the world.” 

“It’s pretty bad, ’ ’ said Paul. ‘ ‘ But no worse 
than my red glass breastpin,” he conceded, gen- 
erously. 

It was the family custom for Mrs. Arnold to 
open her sons’ gifts at the breakfast table and 
therefore refrain from entering the room until 
escorted by both boys. She came down in a 
simple white dress, her hair in two braids over 
her shoulders. 

“Oh, Mother, you look so pretty!” said Ar- 
cher, dancing to meet her. Paul had his hands 
full of holly and promptly stuck a twig in either 
braid just below his mother’s ears and put a bit 
of mistletoe on her head 

“There, Archer, that means we can kiss 
Mother every time we think of it!” he ex- 
claimed. “Breakfast is served, Mrs. Arnold. 
Will you take my arm?” 

With a son on either side, Mrs. Arnold was 


i 82 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


ceremoniously escorted to the dining-room 
where Paul threw wide the door. There was 
the table with its white linen and shining silver, 
its fragrant coffee-pot and golden grape-fruit. 
From the low electric light hung a Christmas 
bell and a glass bowl of violets stood on the side- 
board. 

Both hoys were watching their mother. Paul 
saw her eyes open slightly wider, but her ex- 
pression never changed at sight of Archer’s 
china cat, seated in the exact center of the 
round table, with a wreath of holly around its 
neck and a number of chocolate objects repos- 
ing at its feet. 

^‘Why!” said Archer, himself surprised. 
‘‘Paul mXist have put those there. Oh, Mother, 
it’s already caught you some mice!” 

Mrs. Arnold sat down in the chair Paul held 
for her. ‘ ‘ Archer ! ’ ’ she said brightly, ‘ ‘ I never 
saw a cat like that before ! Where did you get 
it? And a cat capable of providing me with 
chocolates. Why, sonny, what a remarkable 
Christmas present ! ’ ’ 

“You do like it?” asked Archer searchingly. 
“You’ll let it sit by the library fire?” 

“Like it?” said Mrs. Arnold heroically. “I 


CHRISTMAS 


183 

like anything my boys choose to give me. In- 
deed, it shall sit by the fire, darling! You shall 
choose the place you like best for it and it shall 
stay just exactly as long as you want it there.’’ 

Archer gave a sigh of satisfaction and when 
his mother released him took his seat in a state 
of beaming radiance. Mrs. Arnold’s gaze was 
bent on the spray of white roses by her plate. 
Prom them she looked to her older son with 
eyes that held a glimmer of tears. 

Archer waited patiently. There always were 
white roses- by Mother’s plate on Christmas 
morning; there always would be. He had been 
with his brother the previous evening when Paul 
stopped at the florist’s. That Mother should 
look at them in a way that was both sorry and 
glad, and that Paul should kiss her and neither 
of them say one word about the roses was al- 
ways a part of Christmas. 

But Paul knew what Archer did not, that the 
little ceremony dated from the first Christmas 
after Mother was married. He had been 
scarcely older than Archer now when he realized 
that he was the person who must henceforth see 
that Mother had her Christmas roses. 

You’d better open Paul’s present,” sug- 


1 84 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

gested Archer when the flowers had been tucked 
into Mrs. Arnold’s gown. 

^^A tiny white box with a red ribbon and a 
sprig of holly. It must be another chocolate 
mouse!” 

Archer giggled. ‘Tt’ll be a baby mouse, 
Mother. The box is too small for a big one. ’ ’ ■ 

“Oh, Paul dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Arnold a 
moment later. “What a lovely little brooch!” 

Archer sprang up to look at it. “Why, it’s a 
flower!” he announced. 

“A violet with pearl petals and a sapphire 
center. Paul, it’s charming! Come here 
where I can reach you. ’ ’ 

“You must wear it to church,” said Archer 
admiringly. “The stone just matches your 
eyes. I wish — ” 

He cast a dubious glance at the china cat. 
Paul choked over his grape-fruit, but Archer’s 
doubts were fleeting. His face was quite clear 
by the time he sat down. 

‘ ‘ Come, hurry, ’ ’ said Paul. ^ ‘ I know a pack- 
age that is going to make you sit up and take 
notice, old chap.” 

Some fifteen minutes later they were estab- 
lished on the couch in the library. Mother be- 


CHRISTMAS 


185 

tween the boys, and all sorts of mysterious pack- 
ages before them. It was Archer’s turn now. 

‘‘Which is yours, Mumsey!” he begged. 
“Yours first and Paul’s next.” 

Mrs. Arnold indicated a small square pack- 
age. Archer opened it eagerly and gave a 
squeak of delight. 

“A watch! a truly silver watch!” 

“A truly watch for my big boy,” laughed 
Mrs. Arnold. 

“I’ll never have to ask Boy Blue the time any 
more,” sighed Archer blissfully. “Oh, it was 
the thing I wanted most in the whole world. 
I’ll never be late to breakfast now!” 

Archer immediately transferred himself to 
his mother’s lap and for several minutes showed 
no interest in the other packages. “It’s the 
very nicest Christmas!” he declared when at 
last they were opened. “My watch and the 
Brownie camera Paul gave me. And dandy 
skates from Uncle Court and five dollars be- 
sides. And Tony’s knife and this new game 
from Aunt Clara. And six beautiful books 
and two boxes of candy and fur gloves, too. 
Oh, Mother, you gave me the gloves and the 
watch and I had only one thing for you !” 


1 86 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


came and sang a Christmas carol at 
my door last night! demanded his mother. 
^‘Why, that in itself was a lovely present!’^ 

‘‘But it was Paul who stayed awake,’’ con- 
fessed Archer. ‘ ‘ I couldn ’t. He came and told 
me when it was time.” 

“That makes it all the nicer, sonny,” de- 
clared his mother. “Now, Paul, let’s look at 
your things.” 

“Open Mother’s first,” commanded Archer. 
“Another little box! But it can’t be a watch 
because you have one. Oh, cuff-links, gold 
ones ! Aren ’t they great ? ’ ’ 

“My monogram on them, too,” proclaimed 
Paul. “There’ll be no swiping these. Thank 
you. Mother dearest. They’re just what I 
wanted.” 

“And this fat package,” said Archer. 
“Mother, that’s from you, too! I can guess, 
Paul!” 

“So can I. Fur gloves, but several sizes 
larger than yours, so you can’t borrow them. 
Oh, thank you. Mother, they’re just right. 
Aren’t they stunners! Won’t I be the envied 
fellow though! Now, kid, where’s your pack- 
age!” 


CHRISTMAS 187 

‘T hope you’ll like it,” said Archer eagerly. 
^^Tony thought you would.” 

^‘Sure, I do!” said Paul, examining the 
pocket flashlight. ‘‘I really was anticipating a 
china kitten, hut this will do just as well. It’ll 
he equally useful hunting for rats. I like it 
very much. Archer. ’ ’ 

‘‘And this is from Uncle Court,” said Archer, 
pulling out a long package. “I know this, too. 
Tony told me.” 

“Oh, a fishing-rod!” Paul’s eyes sparkled. 
“For next summer. Mother. Uncle’s promised 
to take Tony and me fishing in Maine. Isn’t 
it great!” 

Paul’s eager face was hent over the jointed 
rod. It was perfect in every respect and was 
accompanied hy a hook of flies. 

“What did Uncle give you. Mother?” asked 
Archer. 

‘ ‘ The lovely new lamp in the library, dear. I 
needed one, you know.” 

“Yes,” said Archer virtuously. “Paul and 
Tony broke the other. You’d better hurry, 
Paul, ’cause Mother has a heap of bundles, too, 
and it’s ’most church-time.” 

Paul’s other packages were opened less de- 


i88 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


liberately. A crocheted silk tie from Tony, 
books and remembrances from other friends 
came to light. Archer was less interested in his 
mother’s gifts. Lace, linen, and embroidery 
seemed of little value to the owner of a truly 
watch and other desirable masculine posses- 
sions. 

Mrs. Arnold came down dressed for church 
and for the Christmas dinner at her brother’s 
house. The white roses were clasped by Paul’s 
pin. Archer noted the pin approvingly, with 
another fleeting feeling of regret. If he had 
chanced to see that brooch, perhaps he would 
have left the china cat upon the top shelf of the 
village store. As for the roses, they always 
went to church. That, too, was a part of Christ- 
mas. 

‘^Mother,” asked Paul laughingly, “won’t 
you give me back the pin with the red stone 
now?” 

“Never!” said Mrs. Arnold. “That pin is 
one of my choicest possessions. Some day, 
Paul, when you bring me a daughter, if I love 
her very, very much. I’ll give her that pin. But 
in no other way will you ever get it ! ” 

After service. Uncle Court, Aunt Clara and 


CHRISTMAS 


189 

Tony gave them a glad welcome. Cousins from 
near and far gathered for the big, hospitable 
dinner, followed by games and fun. About five, 
Mrs. Arnold and the boys left the festivities for 
a little. Not far away was the Children's Hos- 
pital, and to visit it was a yearly custom. 

Paul carried a big basket of flowers and Mrs. 
Arnold moved from one bed to another, with 
a smile and a pleasant word for each child, be- 
stowing a rose here, a carnation there. Then 
Archer stood by his mother’s side and sang. 

‘^Once in royal David’s city,” was his choice 
for the first ward, and the second heard, ^^Oh, 
little town of Bethlehem. ’ ’ The third room con- 
tained the tiniest invalids of all. Archer hesi- 
tated. 

‘‘They’re so little,” he said, turning to his 
mother. Mrs. Arnold bent and whispered some- 
thing. Archer’s face cleared. 

^Away in a manger, no crib for his bed, 

The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head,” 

he sang softly, and the weary babies lay still to 
listen. 

“I wish they weren’t sick and didn’t have to 
stay in bed,” he said pensively as they left 
the hospital. ‘'But perhaps they have some 


190 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

nice times. Every one liad a plaything.’’ 

‘‘Just think of the kind nurses and doctors 
who are helping them get well,” said Mrs. Ar- 
nold brightly. 

“Yes-s,” remarked Archer thoughtfully. 
“But they wanted yoUy Mother. They said it 
with their eyes. ’ ’ 

“That’s true,” assented Paul. “Poor little 
kids!” 

The three returned to Mr. Arnold’s home for 
the Christmas games that occupied the evening. 
Nine o’clock found Archer sleepy and tired. 

“Paul,” said Mrs. Arnold, drawing him aside 
for a moment. “I think I’ll go home now with 
Archer. He’s had such an exciting day. But 
there’s no reason why you should leave. Stay 
as long as you choose.” 

“This family sticks together on Christmas,” 
replied Paul. “It’s too small to divide, and 
there’ll be enough going on the rest of the vaca- 
tion anyway. We’ll put the kid to bed and you 
and I will finish the evening by the library fire. 
I’ll even smile at the china cat. I really prefer 
to come with you. Mother. I wish you could 
know what it means to a fellow to have you to 
come home to. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XV 


AFTER VACATION 

After the holidays the school returned to a 
snow-covered campus. Christmas week had 
favored Riverview with a severe storm, bury- 
ing the country for more than two feet in places. 
The river was useless for skating, hut snow- 
shoeing and skiing were at their best. Sleds 
were sported by the Nursery and double-runners 
were not despised by the Upper school. 

Archer desired both sled and snow-shoes, but 
recalling Paul’s caustic comments on his Christ- 
mas shopping, prudently sought his brother’s 
advice. 

^‘If I were you, I’d get only the sled,” Paul 
suggested. ‘‘If you buy snow-shoes to fit you 
now, you’ll outgrow them soon. Anyway, I 
don’t believe you have money enough for both.” 

‘ ‘ W ell, ’ ’ said Archer. “ I have my allowance 
for this month; that’s a whole dollar, and I have 
the five dollars Uncle Court gave me at Christ- 
mas.” 


191 


192 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘‘But you don’t want to blow it all in at once. 
It’ll be no fun being strapped till the first of 
February, and you know you mustn’t borrow 
nor get things on tick. Two dollars will buy a 
good sled and I’d make that do for this winter. 
You’ve skates and a hockey stick. Won’t those 
answer?” 

Archer decided that they would. His brother 
good-naturedly agreed to meet him at the vil- 
lage shop where a really fine assortment of ath- 
letic goods was displayed. 

Paul had returned to school in a happier and 
more normal frame of mind. Beginning with 
his own thoughts that night while listening to 
the Christmas music, a change had gradually 
come over his attitude toward life. Home en- 
vironment and holiday fun, combined with 
Tony’s congenial companionship, all contrib- 
uted to make him see things in a truer perspec- 
tive. He and his cousin had more than carried 
out their proposed programme of diversion. 
Several glorious gallops and two fine concerts 
were added to the strictly social gaieties 
planned. He came back for the winter term re- 
solved to think no more of the football season, 
to keep himself in a state of perfect indifference 


AFTER VACATION 


193 


as regarded Patterson conduct, either past or 
future, and not to care in the least who obtained 
the Chase prize. 

Archer, Bryan, and Tommy were on hand at 
the time appointed. Paul approved the choice 
of a fine flexible flyer and then invited all three 
small boys to have ice-cream at the ^‘Grub 
Shop.’^ 

Since this palace of enjoyment was farther 
down the street. Archer ^s sled was left to be 
called for on the way back. The beginning of a 
new term found the school well supplied with 
pocket money so the Grub Shop showed a large 
patronage. 

Ordering their ices, the boys stood around, 
seeing no immediate chance of seats. As the 
last of the three took his brimming glass Paul 
caught a glance from Patterson, who was sit- 
ting near by. In spite of his recent resolutions, 
something in its expression annoyed him. Why 
shouldn’t he treat all the Nursery kids if he 
liked! What was there to sneer at! 

The three little boys had found a table, and 
Paul, though he had not intended to stay, or- 
dered a chocolate soda for himself and deliber- 
ately joined his guests. Presently Phil Lan- 


194 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

sing appeared, extracted an ice from the over- 
busy clerk and promptly attached himself to 
their party, ignoring all invitations from other 
quarters. 

‘^Say, Gabriel, can^t a shadowy person like 
me go halves on a chair? Oh, don^t get up; 
there’s plenty of room.” 

‘ ‘Unpacked yet?” asked Paul. 

“Unpacked!” groaned Lansing. “There 
isn’t room in the study to put a postage stamp. 
Say what I can, Harry wonT quit turning things 
around. Came in last night to find my bed up- 
side down, — ^head where the foot ought to be. 
When I looked pathetic, he threw things. I 
never saw anybody like Harry; he sits up all 
night, beginning with the time he goes to bed. 
Are you game for another, kids ? Have one on 
me?” 

“Don’t,” said Paul. “They’ll be tied up in 
knots to-night.” 

“Oh, no, they won’t. Their tummies can 
stand more than that — ” 

The chair that Lansing and Archer were shar- 
ing suddenly tipped. Archer sprang to his feet 
but the older boy went flat on the floor. 


AFTER VACATION 


195 

‘‘Look out!’’ laughed Paul, seizing his own 
glass and Lansing’s. 

The warning came too late. Struggling to 
straighten his long legs, Lansing managed to 
hit the table. Archer’s dish was empty, so was 
Tommy’s, but Bryan had been more deliberate. 
The remainder of his half-eaten ice slid into 
Lansing’s face and trickled down his neck. 

The howl of laughter that arose from the Grub 
Shop moved even its seasoned proprietor to 
mirth. So long as nothing was broken he could 
afford to join in the amusement, and Lansing 
was an absurd spectacle. Only the three little 
boys looked solemn. 

“Here, give us a wet towel!” said Paul, con- 
trolling his mirth at last and turning to the clerk 
behind the counter. “Phil, you giddy ass, if 
you could only see yourself now, you’d quit 
playing the goat.” 

Lansing buried his face in the welcome towel, 
mopped his hair, ran a finger gingerly around 
the top of his collar and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Vaudeville’s over, fellows!” he remarked 
cheerfully. “Smile, you kids. We’ll all have 
another.” 


196 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

The three looked at him wonderingly. Who 
but Lansing could have come out of a trying and 
difficult situation so triumphantly? All those 
big boys had howled with laughter, — and Lan- 
sing didn’t care ! Here was a character worthy 
of admiration, courage to be emulated ! 

The older boys left them at the door and the 
trio turned slowly back toward school, passing 
on their way the Town Hall. 

It was an ugly brick building of a type of 
architecture common in New England. Upon 
its exterior were signs of different public of- 
fices. 

‘‘Tax Collector, Town Clerk, Police Station, 
Superintendent of Schools,” read Archer. 

Tommy suddenly stopped. “Down in the 
basement,” he said in an awed voice, “is a 
prison. A fellow told me so. There are places 
where they lock people up !” 

“What for?” asked Boy Blue. 

“Getting drunk, I suppose,” said Tommy, 
whose knowledge of the world’s evil comprised 
no more serious sin. 

“Let’s go down and see what it looks like,” 
proposed Archer. 


AFTER VACATION 


197 

This audacious suggestion made the others 
gasp. ‘‘Do we dare?’’ asked Bryan. 

“Pununy never told us not to,” said Tommy. 

“No,” replied Archer, “but he did tell me the 
other day that I thought of too many things he 
didn’t.” 

“Well, that’s his lookout,” decreed Bryan. 
“He ought to think of ’em first. Let’s go. It 
can be a pirate expedition to see whether we 
shall put our next prisoners there. ’ ’ 

The three reconnoitered the building with pro- 
fessional precaution. To storm the Town Hall 
in the very face of an unsuspecting populace was 
an adventure worthy of their mettle. After 
careful discussion, the door labeled “Superin- 
tendent of Schools ’ ’ was chosen as the point of 
assault. 

“What’ll you do if we meet the Superintend- 
ent?” inquired the prudent Tommy, desirous to 
be prepared for all emergencies. 

“Ask if he wants an office boy,” replied Ar- 
cher promptly, his imagination quickened by a 
recent visit to his uncle’s place of business. 

The door cautiously opened, disclosed a nar- 
row empty corridor with a door on either side. 


198 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

One at the right bore the legend : Superintend- 
ent ’s Office ; the other at the left was as plainly 
marked Cellar. 

With due care Archer turned its handle. 
Fortune favored their expedition. The door 
was not locked and the next mament three small 
hoys were creeping down the stairs as noise- 
lessly as hoys alone can move when they really 
wish to he quiet. Strange that this faculty 
should lie latent in even the noisiest of little 
boys ! 

The stairs ended in an open, airy cemented 
cellar. At one side a partition shut off fuel and 
heating apparatus, on the other were lockers, 
toilet rooms and — ^yes, — two cells with grated 
doors ! 

On tiptoe, the professional pirates continued 
their scouting trip. The wariest of janitors 
could not have suspected their presence. 

The cell into which they looked was clean, un- 
tenanted, furnished only with the frame of a 
bed and n chair. It was lighted by a small, 
high, barred window through which they could 
see the feet of passers-by. 

Silently they stole to the door of the other 
cell, but scarcely had they reached it when some- 


AFTER VACATION 


199 


thing stirred in the darkest comer. The boys 
canght a single glimpse of a disreputable-look- 
ing man seated on the bed. 

With one accord they took to their heels. No 
janitor could have stopped them, no town au- 
thority have held them. They tumbled up the 
stairs, stampeded along the corridor and burst 
through the outer door, leaving it open wide to 
the weather. 

Nor did they stop • on reaching the street. 
Forgetting the sled, they tore on their panic- 
stricken way. Even failing breath and lessen- 
ing strength only slightly slackened their pace. 
They did not know they had overtaken Paul 
and Lansing until the older boys hailed them. 
Recognizing his brother, Archer fairly flung 
himself at him. 

‘‘WhaFs got these infants asked Lansing, 
for Tommy was frantically clutching the belt of 
his Mackinaw, and fright was as plainly written 
on Bryan’s face. ‘‘Who scared you? Tell me 
and I’ll go back and lay him out.” 

The trio, panting for breath, literally could 
not speak. When they did manage to gasp a 
fragmentary tale, they were unprepared for a 
mighty burst of laughter. 


200 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


‘‘You little idiots!^’ said Paul at length. 
Lansing, quite overcome by mirth, was sitting 
in a pile of snow. “How on earth could the 
man get you if he was locked in!” 

The pirates looked at one another. Fear had 
been abroad in the cellar of the Riverview Town 
Hall, and before her shadowy form common- 
sense took wing. 

“Well, he couldn’t!” Tommy conceded with 
a sickly grin. 

Archer lifted a tumbled head from Paul’s 
coat. “I never thought of that,” he acknowl- 
edged. “It was a dreadful experience. What 
was he locked up for ! You ’re mean to laugh ! ’ ’ 

“Probably a bum on a bust,” said Lansing, 
wiping his eyes. “As for laughing, did you see 
me when I lay on the floor with ice-cream trick- 
ling down my spine and forty fellows pointing 
the finger of scorn at me? And did I turn a 
hair?” 

He didn’t and they had admired him. 

“Well, I don’t care,” said Archer, drawing a 
long breath. “I suppose it is funny. Of 
course, if we’d stopped to think, we’d know that 
he wouldn’t stay there if he could get out. I’ll 
go back now and get my sled. ’ ’ 


AFTER VACATION 


201 


^‘Served you jolly well right for poking 
around in a place where you ought not to he,’’ 
said Paul, feeling that his position as older 
brother required him to improve the occasion. 
‘‘What did you go down there fori” 

The pirates again looked at one another. 
“We went,” replied Archer with gentle cour- 
tesy, ‘ ‘ on very important private business ! ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XVI 

ALICE IN WONDEKLAND’’ 

Mid-year examinations a thing of the past, 
the Sanderson gave a minstrel show. Foster, 
not to be outdone, announced a presentation of 
Alice in Wonderland. Started as a joke, the af- 
fair finally aroused so much interest that it as- 
sumed the proportions of a full-fledged theatri- 
cal performance. 

Mr. Barrows watched its development with 
amused approval. The winter term, bringing 
frequent bad weather and consequent curtail- 
ment of outdoor sports, was always the trying 
one of the year. Any innocent diversion keep- 
ing the boys happy and busy in leisure moments 
was welcomed by a housemaster. 

Foster decided that the affair must be prop- 
erly staged. The house took up a collection and 
appointed a committee to see about costumes. 
Lansing and Colquhoun, having paid a visit to 
town, returned in a state of excitement to report 
202 


“ALICE IN WONDERLAND’’ 203 

that for a moderate sum they could rent a com- 
plete set made purposely for the play. 

The cast held another council and adjourned 
to invade Mr. Barrows^ study. He heard 
their proposals with a smile. 

‘‘Well/’ he said, tipping hack in his swivel 
chair. ‘ ‘ I understand that you want to rent the 
Town Hall, throw the performance open to the 
public, charge a small admission fee to cover 
expenses, and devote any profits to some chari- 
table purpose. Is that it T ’ 

“That’s exactly it,” said Preston Lawrence. 
“Of course, we’ll ask the Doctor, too.” 

“Oh, he’ll approve. Anything like this and 
your annual concert tends to promote good feel- 
ing between the school and the village. But are 
you prepared to give people their money’s 
worth ? ’ ’ 

“Mr. Barrows,” said Lansing solemnly, “if 
you could but witness my subtle interpretation 
of the character of the Cheshire Cat ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I should certainly expect it to be a star per- 
formance, Phil,” Mr. Barrows replied with 
equal gravity. ‘ ‘ But your play as a whole must 
be good.” 

“Consider the cast,” Lansing went on. 


204 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘‘Perry does the Duchess. Such a classy peer- 
ess never stepped the boards before ! Malcolm 
excels as the Gryphon, and to hear Paul sing the 
song of the Mock Turtle would bring tears to 
the eyes of a brass monkey. Sturgis is to be 
Alice. Skirts and a wig will turn him into a 
regular peach! Then there ^s the Hatter and 
the Dormouse, — Cliiford and Shoestrings, you 
know. Wonders, both! But the gem of the 
menagerie, always excepting the Cat, of course, 
is Pops as the March Hare. Being half mad 
to begin with — ’’ 

Preston himself cut short this flood of elo- 
quence by cahnly ramming a handkerchief into 
the speaker’s mouth. ‘ ‘ Shut up, dear one ! ” he 
said soothingly. “Mr. Barrows,” he went on, 
“we’ll give you a rehearsal to-morrow night. 
Of course Phil can’t be judged by any standards 
of ordinary sanity, but you’ll see for yourself 
how the rest of us show up.” 

“Agreed!” said the housemaster merrily. 

This private exhibition resulted in cordial 
approval from Mr. Barrows and a promise to 
report their project favorably to the Doctor. 
Almost before they knew it, the actors found 


“ALICE IN WONDERLAND” 205 

themselves scheduled for a real performance in 
behalf of the local Charity association, saw 
their coming prowess blazoned in shop windows 
and on bulletin boards. 

On the appointed evening, the Town Hall held 
a big and varied audience. All the little boys 
from Clarke House as well as the Upper school 
were allowed to attend, faculty ladies came out 
in full force, and a large gathering of village 
people was present, including many children. 

Foster had decided to keep the affair entirely 
to its own membership. At first, Sturgis de- 
clined to play Alice, and they proposed to bor- 
row Archer Arnold, a suggestion at once turned 
down by both Paul and Mr. Barrows, who 
agreed that the part was too exacting and the 
excitement too much for a little fellow. Sturgis 
was fiLnally induced to reconsider. Between 
actors, ushers, ticket-takers, curtain-raisers, 
and prompter, some share in the project was 
found for every one of Foster’s thirty occu- 
pants. 

Raymond, the artistic, acted as stage mana- 
ger. Under his planning the curtain rose upon 
a scene charming enough to bring a murmur of 


2o6 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


pleased approval from the audience. Before 
them lay an empty garden with rose-covered 
trellises and potted plants in orderly beds. 

Alice came tripping on the stage to be re- 
ceived with shouts of laughing applause. A 
pretty girl was Sturgis, with his fresh young 
face looking out between long golden curls. 
The little pink frock, white apron and ankle-ties 
were exactly those of the familiar illustrations. 
He was small and slender enough to pass criti- 
cism, but the bare arms, protruding from short 
lace-trimmed sleeves, showed no girlish curves, 
only well-developed muscles, and ended in the 
unmistakable hands of a boy. 

The actors had wisely decided to present a 
simple arrangement of the fairy tale, rather a 
series of scenes than a connected play, requiring 
little change of setting and few stage proper- 
ties. The charm of the affair lay in the famil- 
iarity of the audience with the story and their 
delight at seeing the different characters ap- 
pear in life-like guise. The costumes alone 
would have carried otf a poorer presentation, 
but to do the boys justice, dialogue and acting 
were both spirited and good. The spectators, 
listening with anticipative pleasure for the non- 


‘‘ALICE IN WONDERLAND’’ 207 

sense that has grown beloved to the whole 
world, greeted each familiar joke with glee. 

The White Rabbit trotted about in search of 
gloves and fan, the Fish and Frog footmen 
stood solemnly outside the door of the Duchess, 
and each successive character was hailed with 
affection. The Duchess towered six feet tall, 
broad in proportion, and wore a surpassingly 
ugly mask. According to precedent, she pep- 
pered the baby but with unexpected results, for 
the Cheshire Cat, anxious to preserve the literal 
text of the tale, had slyly put pepper into a sup- 
posedly empty pot. 

With the howls of the joyful audience mingled 
the sneezes of the wrathful Duchess. Alice, for- 
getting her proper role, indulged in an impish 
grin. The spectators sat up. Things not on 
the programme might evidently be anticipated. 

Presently among the roses, materialized the 
Cheshire Cat. Its eagerly awaited advent was 
the signal for a rising tide of amusement. Only 
its white plush mask showed through the open- 
ing, displaying a grin stretching literally from 
ear to ear. Then came its remarkable conver- 
sation with Alice as it disappeared and reap- 
peared to the end of the scene. 


2o8 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


As the curtain fell, the school orchestra began 
to play. Without the least warning, the curtain 
suddenly shot up, revealing the Duchess chas- 
tising the Cheshire Cat in the center of the 
stage. Though the curtain was instantly jerked 
down, this glimpse of merited discipline behind 
the scenes stirred the audience to unbounded 
enthusiasm. 

Next came the Mad Tea-Party. On a nar- 
row bench behind a rickety green table, sat the 
Hatter and the March Hare, drinking tea and 
using the Dormouse for a cushion. Alice, wan- 
dering in, took her seat at the table’s end. 

At sight of the March Hare, the children 
squealed with pleasure. His mask was perfect 
even to the time-honored s.traws around the 
ears. And there sat the furry Dormouse, its 
pointed nose and sleepy head almost in its tea- 
cup ! There sat the Hatter, large as life, with a 
huge price ticket stuck in his hat-band ! 

Perhaps the excited Hare and Hatter did not 
realize just how vigorously they were ^‘rough- 
ing” the Dormouse. Not naturally of a meek 
or patient disposition, and nearly suffocated by 
its heavy hot fur head, it endured almost to 
the end of the scene and then “awoke” with a 


‘^ALICE IN WONDERLAND’’ 209 

vengeance. Selecting a soft spot in the March 
Hare it administered a vicious pinch. 

The Hare had just urged Alice to ‘Hake some 
more tea.’^ It emphasized the invitation hy 
suddenly leaping into the air. 

Hatter and Dormouse only just saved them- 
selves from going over backward, bench and all. 
Alice clutched the table, but the tea service was 
beyond her reach. With china crashing it slid 
to the floor. 

For a second the actors were taken aback, but 
the situation was saved by the Cheshire Cat. 
That astute animal had no business whatever to 
come upon the stage at that moment, but in it 
padded, clad in a white plush suit with high 
white boots and a wonderful tail. Down upon 
all fours it went and began to lap milk from 
the scattered crockery. 

“Clever work!’’ laughed Mr. Barrows to his 
next neighbor. 

“Didn’t they mean to do it?” asked Mr. 
Pomeroy under cover of the uproarious mirth. 

“No,” said Mr. Barrows, “but thanks to the 
Cat, hardly anybody in the audience knows it.” 

The Cat, once on the stage, remained. It had 
no earthly business there, but it waved its tail. 


210 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


sat down and rubbed leather-palmed paws over 
its head, washing its face in a touchingly realis- 
tic manner. The March Hare threw a piece of 
bread at it; Alice administered a surreptitious 
and deplorably unladylike kick, but the Cat 
merely purred the louder. 

By this time, it was impossible to hear a word 
that was spoken, for the wildly amused chil- 
dren could not be suppressed. Alice left the 
tea-party in disdain and the curtain fell. 

The next and final act introduced the Gryphon 
and the Mock Turtle. During the interval 
the audience had become calm. The Cat 
was not visible when the curtain rose, but cer- 
tain suspicious sounds from the left wing in- 
dicated that it was being kept there only by 
force. 

The Gryphon and the sorrowful Mock Turtle, 
who with tears and sobs told his tale, con- 
founded poor Alice by their description of the 
school in the sea, a narrative received with 
chuckles and ripples of laughter from the Lower 
school boys. Then they passed to the Lobster 
Quadrille and the Mock Turtle began his solo. 

you walk a little faster? said a whiting to 
a snail/” 


“ALICE IN WONDERLAND” 21 1 


Silently from eitlier wing stole the other mem- 
bers of the oast, Duchess, footmen. White 
Rabbit, Dormouse and all. The Cat, released 
from imprisonment, was recklessly whisking its 
tail. Hand in hand they stood in two lines be- 
hind the trio already on the stage. The Mock 
Turtle continued his song in a voice charming in 
quality if not so remarkable as his little 
brother's. As he finished the first stanza, the 
chorus was taken up by the others, dancing for- 
ward and backward as they sang. In front 
danced Alice between Gryphon and Mock 
Turtle. 

Just as the Mock Turtle began the third 
stanza, the Cat, escaping from the custody of 
the March Hare, stole toward the footlights. 

^The farther off from England, the nearer is to 
France ” 

sang the Turtle. 

To the unspeakable delight of the younger 
portion of the audience and to the evident con- 
sternation of both soloist and chorus, the 
Cheshire Cat suddenly bounced off the stage. 
Waving its white plush paws and switching its 
tail, it prowled down the center aisle. Shrieks 
of joy greeted its approach. Half the audience 


212 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


promptly turned to see what it was going to 
do. 

Hand on heart, the Cat made a ceremonious 
bow to a lady it had never seen before, then 
turned to a group of grinning small boys from 
the Nursery. Archer on the end of the seat 
looked at it somewhat dubiously, — Archer still 
believed in fairy tales. An affable paw was 
presented, but Archer, recognizing those merry 
eyes, gave the Cat a sudden hug that twisted its 
head askew. 

Not at all disconcerted, it adjusted its mask 
and continued its lawless excursion. It shook 
hands solemnly with an awe-struck small boy, 
patted the village minister on the head, chucked 
a little girl under the chin, hit a scoffing sixth- 
former a whack with its tail. Then at full 
speed it galloped back, the children screaming 
with glee as it passed. 

A few rows from the front. Dr. and Mrs. Hil- 
ton were sitting with their little five-year-old 
son. Jack, standing on the settee, was fairly 
jumping up and down with excitement over this 
marvelous animal. 

The Cat materialized at his very side. Jack 
stared. ’Unlike any cat he knew, it possessed 


“ALICE IN WONDERLAND’’ 213 

smiling blue eyes. Also, it spoke the English 
language. 

The next second, Mrs. Hilton in real dismay, 
grasped her husband’s arm. The Cheshire Cat 
with her precious Jack on its shoulder had 
bounded back upon the stage ! 

‘‘Oh, John, how could you! Who is it, any- 
way!” 

“I haven’t an idea!” laughed Dr. Hilton, im- 
mensely diverted by the whole affair. “Jack 
seemed to know. He never thought of not go- 
ing.” 

One arm tightly clasping the Cat’s neck, his 
eyes big and round, his cheeks pink. Jack found 
himself surrounded by the real creatures of the 
fairy tale. The audience was howling with 
mirth. If anything were being said or sung 
upon the stage no one could hear a word. 

“Barrows, who is that Cat!” demanded Dr. 
Hilton, leaning forward. The actors had 
chosen to remain strictly anonymous and no 
names appeared on the programme. 

For very laughter Mr. Barrows could not 
answer. The Cat and Jack were now doing a 
killing cake-walk, the Gryphon and Mock Turtle 
mimicking them. Presently up sailed the 


214 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

Ducliess. Jack, not liking her hideous mask, 
buried his face on the Cat’s shoulder. At that 
very second came a lull in the applause. 

^‘Take your ugly mug away!” ordered the 
Cat in a voice that, due to the sudden quiet, 
was audible all over the hall. 

Some of the younger boys were actually in 
hysterics and this unexpected interpolation re- 
duced a number of older people to the same 
state of helplessness. The chorus, seeing that 
the performance was over so far as any fur- 
ther adherence to the text was concerned, 
joined hands and began to dance in a circle 
around the Cat and J ack. The orchestra struck 
up the familiar tune of ^‘St. Stephen’s” and 
soon the words became audible. 

‘‘But, John, who has got Jacky?” implored 
Mrs. Hilton. 

“He’s having the time of his life,” laughed 
the principal. “Is it Lansing, Barrows?” 

Mr. Barrows managed to nod assent. 

“I thought so I Nobody but Phil could carry 
that otf. Look at him!” 

Quiet again restored, the Cat volunteered a 
solo. 


“ALICE IN WONDERLAND” 215 

We’ll sing for old St. Stephen’s, 

Whose hill-tops touch the sky ! 

We’ll sing for Jacky Hilton 
Who’ll go there by and by!” 

A shriek of joy from the ecstatically blissful 
Jack greeted this etfusion and the school took 
up the chorus. The next second the Cat sud- 
denly stopped its antics. 

‘‘What’s the matter?” inquired Mrs. Hilton. 
The March Hare had transferred Jack to his 
shoulder and the Cat sat down on the boards 
where it remained, brushing its ears and oc- 
casionally growling, while the rest continued to 
dance about it. 

The March Hare, skipping otf the stage, re- 
stored the hero of a wonderful adventure to his 
anxious mother. 

“What’s happened to the Cat?” asked Dr. 
Hilton, detaining him by a touch. 

“Twisted his game ankle,” whispered the 
Hare, flying back to join in the final “hands 
all round.” 

Cries of disappointment arose from the chil- 
dren as the Cat still sat on the floor. Realiz- 
ing this, it rose with an evident effort. Hare 
and Mock Turtle seized it by either paw and 


2i6 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


such a dance on one foot as that Cat executed 
was never witnessed before! The Gryphon 
stumbled and lost off his head, calmly arose and 
continued without it; Alice’s wig flew off, re- 
vealing a closely cropped boyish crown, and 
finally the curtain fell, — ^fell before an audience 
literally exhausted by laughter. 


CHAPTER XVn 

A QUEER PROBLEM 

‘‘Op all the fool things I ever did, that Cat 
was the worst evevV^ growled Lansing a week 
later. “Three days in the infirmary and 
crutches now is the absolute limit. And on 
top of that I’ll be called Puss to the end of my 
earthly career.” 

“Pussy dear,” said Paul soothingly, “weVe 
always known you aren’t so funny as you are 
foolish. But the foolest thing that anybody 
did that night was done by sweet Alice after 
Barrows ordered you off to the infirmary. 
Sturgis put vaseline on his face to take off his 
make-up. ’ ’ 

“Of course!” said Lansing scornfully. 
“Nothing but grease will start it.” 

“True, oh, Cheshire Puss! But Sturgis 
swiped the tube from Gay’s room and didn’t 
read the label carefully. In about a minute 
there was something doing! It was capsicum 
217 


2i8 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


vaseline, you see. Such language as our gentle 
Alice used!’^ 

‘‘Wish I’d seen that!” laughed Phil. 

“Alice was slightly peeved but the rest of 
us rejoiced unholily. You made the hit of your 
life though with the kids. Archer and Boy 
Blue half believe you really were the only and 
original Cheshire Cat.” 

“And it was a howling success as to tin,” put 
in Harry. “All expenses paid and fifty-odd 
dollars cleared. It’s gone to the village tuber- 
culosis committee. They were more than 
pleased and the Doctor was tickled to death.” 

“I did rattle his slats,” said Phil more cheer- 
fully. “Oh, well! Only that old frog. Dr. 
Cary, says this is the second time I’ve done for 
that ankle and he won’t swear I can come out 
for the team next fall. ’ ’ 

“We’ll slay Dr. Cary before that date,” said 
Paul. “Cheer up, now, or I’ll call in the whole 
house to see our Cheshire Cat with a grouch 
on.” 

“Oh, don’t be a bromide,” growled Lansing. 
“Say, Barrows just told me that the Chase 
essays are back from the judges.” 

A murmur of interest went around Study 18, 


A QUEER PROBLEM 


219 

where the crowd’’ was waiting for the sum- 
mons to dinner. 

‘ ‘ Didn ’t mention who got it ! ” asked Alex. 

‘‘Didn’t know himself. Said he was go- 
ing to look them over with the Doctor the first 
chance they could get, probably to-morrow. I 
suppose we’ll know soon after that.” 

“I’ll bet Barry himself is busting to find 
out,” remarked Harry. 

“Sure!” said Phil. “Out of consideration 
for the rest of you, I didn’t compete. Rejoice, 
give thanks and sing ! But Barry is human and 
he wants the prize for his house, same as last 
year.” 

In truth, Mr. Barrows did hope that one of 
his boys would get the prize and was decidedly 
curious concerning the winner. Not until the 
following evening did a moment come when he 
and Dr. Hilton were both free to look over the 
essays. As soon as dinner was over, Mr. Bar- 
rows appeared at the office. 

“Ripley writes that the choice of the judges 
was made independently and that all three 
voted for the same essay,” began Dr. Hilton. 
“He says they consider it an unusual piece of 
work for a young boy, shows remarkable grasp 


220 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


of subject and original thought. Here it is: 
‘The Conservation of Our Natural Resources.’ 
The pseudonym is ‘Ajax.’ You have the 
sealed envelopes with the real names ? ’ ’ 

Mr. Barrows laid the packet on the desk. 
“That looks like Arnold’s writing,” he said, ex- 
amining the prize essay eagerly. ‘ ‘ Still, it may 
not be. Ajax! I’ll find the envelope.” 

“What’s that?” asked Dr. Hilton abruptly, 
raising his head to listen to an uproar of shout- 
ing somewhere on the campus. 

“Something has broken loose,” he added, 
stepping into the outer office to open the door. 
He came back smiling. “The disturbance 
seems to be in Foster. About fifteen mega- 
phones are shouting in unison : ‘We want Bar- 
rows ! ’ ” 

“My house!” exclaimed the instructor. 
“My good, well-behaved kids! What’s my 
House-president doing 1 ’ ’ 

“From the noise, I should judge he was yell- 
ing with the rest,” replied Dr. Hilton imper- 
turbably. 

Mr. Barrows suddenly laughed. “Excuse 
me while I run over and speak to them. It’s all 
my fault. They wanted to skate this evening 


A QUEER PROBLEM 221 

and I said I’d tell them after dinner whether 
they might. Came over here and never thought 
of it. Naturally, they are calling upon high 
heaven for justice!” 

Dr. Hilton smiled as his assistant hurried 
into the night. He wished his staff boasted 
more men like Barrows. The amusement 
deepened on his face as the clamor changed to 
a cheer, succeeded by silence and then a whoop 
of joy. 

‘‘Nice children!” remarked Mr. Barrows ap- 
provingly, coming in after another moment. 
“ They politely said they were howling not only 
for permission to go, but because they wanted 
me to go with them. Everybody’s promised to 
come in at half -past nine. Let me see. I was 
looking for ‘Ajax’ wasn’t II Here it is! 
Well, — I’ll be hanged! George R. Patterson!” 

At sight of his disconcerted face Dr. Hilton 
burst out laughing. “If you could see your- 
self — ” he began, but suddenly grew grave. 
“Why, the penmanship of this card isn’t quite 
the same as that of the essay. Yes^ it is. No, 
it isn’t, either!” 

“Oh, I remember,” exclaimed Mr. Barrows, 
his face clearing. “There are two essays with 


222 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


the same subject and the same pseudonym. I 
noticed that when they were handed in. Here ’s 
the other envelope marked ‘Ajax.’ This is the 
one belonging to the e&say.” 

Mr. Barrows leaned over to compare the writ- 
ing. “That’s it, — ^yes, beyond a doubt.” 

“The two are very similar,” said Dr. Hilton, 
“but this seems nearer than the first. Odd 
that two should be alike both in subject and 
choice of pseudonym. Open it, ’ ’ he added mis- 
chievously. “I hope for your sake it is the 
name you want it to be. ’ ’ 

Mr. Barrows slit the envelope and gave a sigh 
of satisfaction. “Paul Courtland Arnold,” he 
read. “Well, I’ll admit I am glad. You know 
we all thought there was something fishy about 
the way those match games went last fall. I 
felt if Paul got this prize, it would help to make 
up for his disappointment then. Patterson 
never gave Paul a fair show. Doctor!” 

“I know you thought so, and I’ll agree that 
there was something queer in Patterson’s atti- 
tude,” said Dr. Hilton. “This is a good essay. 
It’s well done! Now, let’s look at Patterson’s. 
He should have turned out fine work too, but the 


A QUEER PROBLEM 


223 

judges haven even given him honorable men- 
tion.’’ 

Dr. Hilton, glancing over Paul’s carefully 
thought-out paper did not notice Mr. Barrows’ 
proceedings. When he looked up after some 
moments, the competing essays were laid in two 
rows on the flat top of the desk, each with the 
corresponding small envelope upon it. Con- 
spicuously by itself lay the card of the second 
Ajax. 

^‘Do you see how this has worked out. Doc- 
tor?” inquired Mr. Barrows in a peculiar tone. 
‘‘There is no essay for Patterson’s card. Can 
the judges have mislaid it?” 

“Impossible,” said the principal briefly, 
after a quick survey of the situation. “Ripley 
counted them in my presence when he took them 
and again when he returned the pack- 
age. There were twenty-seven.” 

“There are and always have been twenty- 
eight cards. Twenty-eight essays were handed 
to me.” 

A pause ensued, during which the eyes of the 
two men met across the desk. 

“Do you remember that Patterson handed 


224 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

you an essay inquired the principal, break- 
ing a silence full of unspoken thought. 

‘^Distinctly. I recall thinking that he and 
Paul were again competing for the same honor. 
I could not name offhand all the boys who 
brought me papers, but I remember positively 
both Arnold and Patterson. At the time, I did 
not notice their pseudonyms. The essays were 
all handed to me at noon on the day they were 
due. ’ ’ 

“And Ripley took them the next morning,’’ 
soliloquized Dr. Hilton. “Where were they be- 
tween those hours?” 

‘ ‘ I took them to my study and locked them in 
my desk, ’ ’ Mr. Barrows replied, thinking aloud. 
“It was Wednesday, a half -holiday. I did not 
open the desk again until I came in after five. 
Then I sorted the essays and compared them 
with the sealed envelopes. They corresponded, 
twenty-eight of each. It was then that I no- 
ticed that there were two ‘Ajaxes’ and that 
their essays were on the same subject. When 
I went to dinner, I closed the desk-lid. Next 
morning, I placed the cards in a drawer and 
brought the essays here to the office.” 


A QUEER PROBLEM 225 

‘‘But they were on your desk all the evening. 
Did any of the hoys come in?^^ 

“Oh, bless me, probably every boy in my 
house! But no one could have meddled with 
them. It wasn’t possible. Doctor. The boys 
came in and out and lounged around my fire, 
but no one could have interfered with my desk. 
Whoever took that essay took an especial one 
and took time to find the one he wanted. It 
isn’t probable that any fellow sorted that pack- 
age of papers with me in the room, even though 
I might have been talking with some one else. ’ ’ 

“No, it isn’t,” agreed Dr. Hilton. “But 
what of the time just before dinner, after you 
had checked up the essays? The package was 
there in your study. Could any one have had 
access to it then?” 

“Deliver a busy man from remembering 
what happened on any especial afternoon!” 
groaned Mr. Barrows. “Let me think. Wed- 
nesday, the eleventh. Was that the day Law- 
rence’s mother came? No, that was the week 
before.” 

Mr. Barrows relapsed into silence, his head 
in his hands. The matter was no small affair. 


226 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


After some moments of thonglit, he looked up. 

‘‘Doctor, if I remember rightly, I left my 
study during that hour before dinner to call a 
long-distance telephone number. I have rea- 
son for knowing it was that afternoon, since it 
was to arrange a personal engagement. I was 
gone perhaps ten minutes. When I came back, 
I found two notes on my desk. One Mrs. 
Holmes had sent over from Clarke. I did not 
know who brought it. The other was a notice 
left by Paul Arnold.’^ 

“Did he leave it personally Dr. Hilton 
asked quietly. 

“Yes, for later in the evening, he spoke to me 
about it. Dr. Hilton!^’ the younger man ex- 
claimed, springing to his feet. “You are not 
thinking that, are you? Paul is incapable of 
it!’^ 

“Not for one minute, Barrows. Do sit down. 
I am only trying to foresee what other people 
may think about it. Patterson and Arnold are 
rivals of long standing. There hasn’t been 
particularly good feeling between them, espe- 
cially since those unlucky football games, which 
Patterson probably did help to lose out of spite 
to Arnold. Given the slight chance that Arnold 


A QUEER PROBLEM 


227 

recognized his rival’s penmanship or knew the 
identical subject and pseudonym, — it was a 
pretty little opportunity for revenge.” 

‘^He didn’t do it!” Mr. Barrows insisted in- 
dignantly. ‘‘I know Paul too well to believe 
that of him. He couldnH do it! Nothing will 
ever make me think he did ! ’ ’ 

^‘Now, don’t blow up, Barrows,” protested 
Dr. Hilton, amused by this vehement defense in 
spite of the gravity of the affair. ^H’m merely 
stating the way things will appear. We may 
leave out of the question the little lad who 
brought the matron’s message; he could have 
known nothing of the essays nor their impor- 
tance. The thing was done by some one who 
knew exactly what he was doing.” 

‘Ht is perfectly possible that other boys came 
during the time I was in the telephone booth.” 

‘‘Granted. But the one person who might 
seem to have an object in removing Patterson’s 
essay did come.” 

“True!” sighed Mr. Barrows. “But he 
came openly and spoke openly of his errand.” 

“Cheer up!” said Dr. Hilton quickly. “Not 
for one second do I believe Paul guilty. But 
it is what Patterson will think, and we must 


228 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


admit that circumstantial evidence gives him 
some reason. If only Paul hadn’t won the 
prize ! That makes it still more of a complica- 
tion.” 

‘‘What a mess!” groaned Mr. Barrows, dis- 
consolately. “I sincerely wish that Madam 
Chase had never instituted that contest.” 

“I almost wish so myself,” sighed the prin- 
cipal. “We’ll postpone any announcement 
about the prize. If we can find a way to clear 
things up without causing a school scandal we 
must do it. Paul’s card apparently belongs to 
the prize essay, hut the penmanship is similar 
and there is just a chance that it is Patterson’s. 
We shall have to find out definitely which of the 
two boys did write the essay that has been 
awarded the prize.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


STILL UNSOLVED 

On coming down stairs next morning, Paul 
found two notes on the house bulletin board. 
One was plainly from the office, since it was ad- 
dressed by the principaPs secretary. Tearing 
it open, he read Dr. Hilton’s desire to see him 
at twelve. 

‘‘What can he want of me?” Paul thought, 
honestly amazed. Think as he might, he could 
imagine no reason for this interview. A sud- 
den idea crossed his mind. Could it concern 
the Chase prize? But last year, when Alex 
won it, no one had known until the result was 
announced in chapel. Well, time would show, 
and certainly he had nothing on his conscience 
that need make him dread a summons to the 
Doctor’s presence. 

He opened the other note, written in Archer’s 
sprawling chirography. , 

“Dear Paul: 

“I am in the Infirmary because my throat is 
sore. Dr. Cary says it is Tonsillytis. I can’t 

229 


230 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

see any of the boys. Only Patsy can stay with 
me and he won’t. He goes away every time he 
can. There is a nice lady here who is the nurse. 
I can’t say her name but she says I may call 
her Miss Ruth. I have to stay in bed. My 
throat aches pretty bad. I wish I could see 
you. 

‘‘Archek.” 

In spite of his regret at the little brother’s 
indisposition, Paul smiled over the letter, for 
it was written with a red pencil, evidently pro- 
vided for the cheering of the invalid. 

“Too bad!” he thought as he went into 
chapel. “I suppose he won’t be allowed to 
see anybody for some time. I’ll rake up a book 
he’ll like, and Alex has some picture puzzles 
he’ll let him take. Hope the Imp isn’t too ill 
to amuse himself.” 

Between chapel and his first recitation, Paul 
made a fiying dash to Dr. Cary’s office, to learn 
that Archer had a bad throat and would feel 
worse before he was any better. Complete 
isolation was to be enforced. 

When Paul entered the office ante-room at 
the appointed hour, he was surprised to meet 
Mr. Barrows. Thinking that his own appoint- 
ment must give way to the needs of a master. 


STILL UNSOLVED 


231 

he hesitated, but Mr. Barrows beckoned to 
him. 

We’re both wanted,” he remarked, thus add- 
ing to Paul’s mystification. 

Dr. Hilton looked grave and preoccupied. 
Mr. Barrows sat down by the desk and the 
principal motioned Paul to a seat on the other 
side. 

There are some questions that we want to 
ask you,” he began. ‘‘First, which of these 
two envelopes is yours?” 

Paul promptly indicated one of the two 
Ajaxes. 

“Do you know the penmanship of the other?” 

“No, sir,” was the reply after a careful 
scrutiny. “It might belong to any one of a 
dozen fellows.” 

“Well, is this your essay?” 

“Yes, sir, it is,” said Paul, giving the sheets 
a glance and then lifting his eyes to the seri- 
ous faces of the two men. Without knowing 
why, he felt vaguely disturbed. 

Dr. Hilton did not speak immediately. 
“Paul,” he said at length, “something rather 
inexplicable has happened. It chanced that an- 
other person besides yourself chose Ajax for 


232 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

a pseudonym, and also by chance handed in 
an essay on the same subject as yours. That 
other essay has disappeared.’’ 

Paul looked surprised and puzzled but not a 
trace of other emotion crossed his face. To 
both observers, had they ever thought other- 
wise, his complete ignorance of the fate of that 
essay was convincing. 

‘ ^ That is strange, ’ ’ he said, feeling that some 
reply was expected. 

^Tt is strange and also peculiarly unfor- 
tunate,” went on Dr. Hilton, ‘‘because the miss- 
ing essay belongs to George Patterson. ’ ’ 

Still no look of comprehension on Paul’s face, 
only a deepening bewilderment. 

“ The judges have awarded the prize to this 
essay, which is yours. They never saw the one 
that probably would have been your closest 
rival.” 

As he ended. Dr. Hilton looked straight into 
Paul’s face with a slight smile. 

“Never saw it? What became of it?” asked 
the boy in surprise. 

“On the appointed day it was handed to Mr. 
Barrows. It was not among the essays when 
they were given to the judges. Somehow on 


STILL UNSOLVED 


233 


the afternoon or evening of the eleventh of 
December, it disappeared from Mr. Barrows’ 
study.” 

‘‘Yes?” said Paul politely. Something in 
the principal’s face suddenly struck him. He 
turned pale. “Oh!” he exclaimed, springing 
to his feet. “Patterson’s essay! Dr. Hilton, 
did you think that of me?” 

“No, Paul, I do not. Sit down and keep cool. 
I am perfectly certain that you neither know 
nor have known anything about it. I called 
you in chiefly to be absolutely sure that the one 
that was left was yours. Do you think it pos- 
sible that any one could have thought he was 
doing you a kindness by taking the other es- 
say?” 

“A mighty short-sighted kindness!” said 
Paul bitterly. “But no friend of mine could 
know what subject Patterson chose nor have 
picked out his essay.” 

“It might be possible for some one to ascer- 
tain Patterson’s subject if he had a real inter- 
est in finding out,” said Dr. Hilton. “I sug- 
gest that as a possible solution, but as a matter 
of fact, any one who took the essay, would, I 
should suppose, have been clever enough to 


234 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

take the corresponding small envelope also. 
Had that been done, the chances are that the 
theft might never have come to light. We 
h-ave not always returned the unsuccessful es- 
says, Barrows r’ 

^^Not always, usually only to the fellows who 
asked for them. To have taken the envelope 
containing the real name would have greatly 
lessened the chances of detection.^’ 

‘‘But who had a chance to steal itT’ asked 
Paul. “Some one must have sneaked it from 
the study. Why!’’ he exclaimed. “I was in 
there myself late that afternoon, Mr. Barrows, 
with that notice about the Glee Club. I remem- 
ber seeing the pile of essays.” 

“Yes,” said the principal gravely. “Mr. 
Barrows recalled finding your note and also one 
from the matron of Clarke House. I asked 
Mrs. Holmes what boy she sent with it but she 
could not recollect. But none of those little 
fellows could have known the importance of 
those essays nor dare have meddled with them. 
You saw nothing suspicious, Paul?” 

Paul did not answer ; his gaze was bent on the 
floor. Upon his dazed comprehension was 
breaking the full significance of the problem. 


STILL UNSOLVED 


235 

He finally looked up to meet Dr. Hilton’s eyes. 

‘T again repeat my perfect confidence in you, 
Paul,” said the principal gently. ^‘But it is 
most unfortunate that Patterson’s should he 
the missing essay. When the affair becomes 
public, as I fear it must, there will of course be 
a good deal of feeling. When you were in the 
study, did you notice any one there?” 

‘‘No one,” replied Paul. “I laid my note 
on Mr. Barrows’ desk and went directly out.” 

“That’s all then,” said Dr. Hilton. “Don’t 
speak of this to any one. I shall defer the an- 
nouncement about the prize until I have decided 
what to do. And don’t worry, Paul,” he added 
kindly. 

Paul took his dismissal and went out into the 
clear winter day, his brain in a whirl. It was 
little to him that the long-coveted prize was his. 
Step by step he went over the conversation, ap- 
preciating as he had not done at the time, just 
what conclusions might be drawn, 

His preoccupation at luncheon passed with 
scant notice, for all were busy and time was 
short. He could not hope, however, to escape 
Alex’s sharp eyes when both came in to dress 
for dinner. 


236 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘‘What^s the matter, Paul? Is it the kid? 
I don’t believe he’s more than uncomfortably 
sick.” 

Paul started. Not one thought had he given 
his little brother since that brief visit to Dr. 
Cary’s office. And if that was only this morn- 
ing, it seemed years and years ago ! 

‘ ‘ Oh, Archer ! ” he finally murmured. ‘ ‘ I for- 
got him. Poor little chap, he’ll think me a 
hard-hearted villain. I’ll run over before din- 
ner and take him a book.” 

‘‘Well, if it isn’t Gabriel, what is the mat- 
ter?” demanded Alex. “Are you in love? 
What’s the charmer’s name? You look as wor- 
ried as a hedgehog. You’ve used toothpaste to 
wash your hands with and if you really think a 
paper-cutter is a satisfactory substitute for a 
comb, you’re much mistaken. Now, what’s 
up?” 

“I can’t tell you,” replied Paul, so soberly 
that his room-mate in turn stopped joking and 
grew serious. “It’s bad, about as bad as it 
can be and I can’t see my way out of it.” 

“Is it Patterson?” 

“I can’t tell you,” repeated Paul. “As soon 
as I can, I will. But, Alex, do you think it 


STILL UNSOLVED 


237 


would be possible for a fellow, — say me, — to 
do a thing that was both mean and dishonest 
and not know it?’’ 

“Not you, St. Paul,” said Alex wisely. 
“Some chaps, — ^yes.” 

“I mean absent-mindedly, really not know.” 

Alex again shook his head. “You did noth- 
ing of the sort,” he repeated. 

“I hope I didn’t!” sighed Paul. “But I feel 
so at sea, I really wonder if I could have. Well, 
I must scribble a note for Archer.” 

Just before the bell rang for dinner, Paul 
dashed otf in the direction of the infirmary. 
To Alex’s surprise and to his secret dismay, 
his chum’s seat remained vacant during the 
entire meal. 


CHAPTER XIX 


WHAT PAUL THOUGHT 

Hr. HhiTOn was usually iu Ms office for an 
hour during the evening, sometimes seeing peo- 
ple by appointment, more often giving Ms at- 
tention to students who came from their own 
initiative. To-night, Paul was among those 
who sought an interview. When he again en- 
tered the study, the principal gazed inqmringly 
at Mm, for his visitor looked pale and excited. 

‘‘Dr. Hilton,” he began. “I came about that 
affair of the Chase prize and the missing essay. 
Vve been thinking about it all the afternoon 
and I see now just what Patterson and his 
friends will think. I didn’t take it all in at 
first. There’s only one thing I can do and I 
want to do it. It’s true that Patterson’s essay 
would probably have been my closest rival. 
Well, I won’t take the prize. I withdraw my 
own essay from the contest.” 

Dr. Hilton was silent for so long that Paul 
had time to recover from his excitement, to feel 

238 


WHAT PAUL THOUGHT 239 

a curious sense of relief and to wonder what 
the principal was thinking. 

‘ ‘ Paul, I told you not to worry, ’ ’ said Dr. Hil- 
ton at length. ‘‘Withdrawing your essay 
doesn’t explain the mysterious disappearance, 
but it will go far toward silencing those who 
might think and speak unkindly. Neither does it 
make things right for Patterson. If he has not 
destroyed the rough draft of his essay, he might 
he given the opportunity to reconstruct it. Or 
we might omit the prize entirely this year. 
But that would not be fair to you.” 

“I don’t care anything about the prize,” said 
Paul. “It is nothing, won this way. I’d 
rather withdraw my essay. ’ ’ 

“You have a right to do that,” replied the 
principal after another pause. “Of course, no 
one who knows you well will think you are con- 
nected with the atfair, but though you with- 
draw your essay, you must be prepared to have 
even that attributed to false motives.” 

“I suppose so,” muttered Paul. 

“You see it has been plain to the faculty as 
well as to the school that the rivalry between 
you and Patterson is not friendly. I have re- 
gretted that fact.” 


240 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

Dr. Hilton spoke so kindly that Paul could 
not feel hurt. ‘Tn your place, he went on, 
should feel as you do about withdrawing 
from the contest. I will see Patterson; we 
shall talk the matter over at faculty meeting to- 
morrow and the decision will probably be an- 
nounced within a day or two. I am more sorry 
about the whole atf air than I can say. ’ ^ 

Paul left the office with a heart somewhat 
lightened. He did not want the prize under 
such conditions but his anger and resentment 
were strong against the unknown person who 
had made the coveted honor impossible for 
him. Try as he might, he could think of no one 
who could have imagined he was doing him a 
service. 

Suddenly Paul stopped short. A n idea had 
struck him with a force that was alm ost j p^si- 
cal. 

Alex was genuinely distressed by his room- 
mate ^s evident perturbation and by his absence 
from dinner. It was a relief to see Paul ap- 
pear at eight, apparently in a calmer frame 
of mind. 

‘‘Hungry?^’ he inquired. ‘T constructed a 


WHAT PAUL THOUGHT 241 

hot roast-beef sandwich for you. IPs on the 
bookcase, and some apples and crackers too.’’ 

‘T forgot about dinner. I was thinking. 
Thanks for the grub. It appears to be cold 
roast beef now. ’ ’ 

‘‘How did you find Gabriel?” inquired Alex, 
leaning back in his chair to watch Paul dis- 
pose of the huge sandwich with a speed that 
spoke of hunger. 

“Bather rocky. Miss Schimmelhom came 
to the door. Archer was feeling bum but was 
plucky. Said she guessed he must be a favor- 
ite, for there had been five masters and a steady 
procession of boys to ask for him. All sorts 
of fruit and truck had been presented for his 
benefit. But the only things he wanted were 
his kitten, which wouldn’t stay, and to see me, 
which was forbidden.” 

“Poor little fellow!” said Alex reflectively. 
“Tonsilitis is no joke. Makes one feel mean 
all over.” 

“There are three other chaps in the infirm- 
ary, but of course a bad throat has to be 
isolated. ’ ’ 

Paul opened his books as he spoke and silence 


242 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

settled over the study. Alex stole several 
glances at his room-mate, hut though Paul 
looked tired, he was certainly more composed 
in manner. 

Two days later an impressive silence filled 
the chapel when Dr. Hilton after morning pray- 
ers, arose to address the school. The boys lis- 
tened in amazement to a concise presentation 
of the facts concerning the missing essay. 

‘^This matter does not lie between Arnold 
and Patterson alone,’’ went on the principal. 
‘Tt concerns every one of us. From whatever 
motive Patterson’s essay was abstracted, the 
person who took it has done a grave injustice 
to both boys. Arnold refuses to take a prize 
won under such conditions. Patterson had no 
chance to win it. 

‘T appeal to your honor. I ask the boy who 
took that essay from Mr. Barrows’ study to 
come to me some time to-day. He may choose 
his own hour but I ask him to come. ’ ’ 

Dr. Hilton dismissed an assemblage already 
splitting into factions. Paul, making his way 
out of chapel, heard not only sympathetic words 
from his own friends, but remarks that showed 
•Patterson’s friends already rallying for him. 


WHAT PAUL THOUGHT 243 

‘^Barrows’ study, — Arnold is in that house. 
Easy enough to work it.’’ 

‘‘But Arnold won’t take the prize,” said a 
quiet voice. 

“Of course not; now it’s found out,” said 
the first speaker. 

Paul would not lower his own dignity by 
turning to see who the two were, but his face 
grew white and stern. All day he constantly 
came upon groups discussing the matter, some 
that turned eagerly to him with words of ap- 
preciation and sympathy; others that dissolved 
at his approach, leaving half-ended sentences 
for him to wonder about. 

“Do you think anybody will go to the Doc- 
tor?” he asked of Alex during study hour that 
evening. 

Alex raised his grave eyes from his geometry. 
“I doubt it,” he said after a pause. “The fel- 
low who was low enough to take that essay 
won’t have honor enough to own up.” 

‘ ‘ Pa rticularly if ttm_e_ssay happens to be his 
own,” said Paul meaningly. 

Alex’s book fell unheeded from the table. 
“You don’t think that?” he exclaimed. 

“Ido.” 


244 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

Alex whistled. ‘Tf Patterson did that and 
deliberately thought out just what it would 
mean to you — why, Paul, it’s diabolic!” 

^Tt’s precisely what I do think,” returned 
his room-mate grimly. ‘‘What other solution 
is there! It was done as no favor to me. 
Whoever took that essay had it in for me per- 
sonally and did the thing that would injure me 
most. Oh, whoever thought out that scheme 
had brains and used them!” 

Alex was silent for some time and when he 
did speak it was very seriously. 

“I wish you would put that idea out of your 
head. I’ve never liked Patterson, hut I don’t 
believe he’s that kind. To deliberately plan 
such an elaborate scheme of injury would mean, 
why, it would mean real moral depravity, 
Paul.” 

“It’s the only theory that fits everything all 
round,” Paul replied bitterly. “If any one 
does own up to the Doctor, I’ll admit I’m mis- 
taken. But no one will. And that will settle 
it in my opinion. ’ ’ 

Alex’s pencil was thoughtfully tracing a de- 
sign on the polished table. “You’ll do your- 
self a still further injustice if you stick to that 


WHAT PAUL THOUGHT 245 

theory,” lie remarked after a lapse of some 
moments during whicli a Latin dictionary ap- 
parently absorbed Paul’s attention. 

‘‘WbyP’ demanded bis friend stiffly. 

“Come down off your percb!” went on Alex. 
“Because it hurts any chap to cherish a grudge. 
And with no definite evidence to go on, you 
ought not to think that. Even the law balks 
at circumstantial evidence. You don’t know, — 
you only suspect. And it will he a worse in- 
jury than any one has done you yet, to let that 
suspicion stick in your mind.” 

“It’s my own mind,” said Paul hotly, “and 
it’s a pretty solid suspicion. But as I said. I’ll 
admit I’m wrong if the Doctor gets it out of 
any fellow. If he doesn’t, I’ll think what I 
please. Now, let’s call this discussion off.” 


CHAPTEE XX 


GABBIEL, INVALID 

As Dr. Hilton feared and the boys had 
prophesied, no one came to the office nor made 
any acknowledgment about the missing essay. 
This was a disappointment to the principal, who 
naturally hoped that the high standard of honor 
prevailing in the school would force the culprit 
to confess. Nothing happened, and a second 
and even more serious appeal remained unan- 
swered. 

Patterson had scornfully refused to consider 
reconstructing his essay ; Paul stood firm in his 
determination not to take a prize won under 
such conditions, so there was nothing to do hut 
award it to the hoy whose name stood first on 
the list of honorable mention. This hap- 
pened to he Harry Hotchkiss. 

When the announcement was made in chapel, 
there was a curious silence. Under ordinary 
circumstances the winner would have been en- 
thusiastically applauded, but the whole affair 

246 


GABRIEL, INVALID 247 

had been so unusual that the school seemed at 
a loss how to conduct itself. Not until Paul 
and Alex, with Phil and others of Harry’s per- 
sonal friends started the applause, did the rest 
seem to realize what was due to the winner. 

Harry looked and felt extremely uncomfort- 
able as he came to the front of the chapel. Dr. 
Hilton tried his best to make the bestowal of 
the silver medal and a handsomely bound set 
of Parkman seem the usual ceremony, but even 
Dr. Hilton was feeling the strained situation. 
Harry could scarcely have appeared more dis- 
tressed had he been undergoing a sentence of 
expulsion. 

He came to Study 18 that evening to express 
his disgust with the whole business and his un- 
willingness to take a prize really won by Paul. 
His awkward protestations were an added thorn 
to Paul’s already over-sensitive condition. 
Though the three tried earnestly to make Harry 
feel that they were glad for him, the effort 
was obvious and by common consent the sub- 
ject was dropped. 

The affair soon faded into oblivion as far 
as the rest were concerned. In the crowded 
and busy life of a school it is an unusual event 


248 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

indeed that is more than a nine*days’ wonder. 
Before long no one, except those most inti- 
mately concerned, seemed to remember the 
matter, and they did not discuss it. Only to 
Alex, had Paul spoken of his own theory. He 
intrenched himself in an armor of reserve which 
successfully repelled would-be sympathizers. 
True, he was obliged to lower this defense for 
Phil, for Mr. Barrows, and for one or two 
others, but for the school in general it served 
its purpose and carried him through those hard 
days with unimpaired dignity. 

Archer ^s attack of tonsilitis proved severe 
and two weeks passed before Dr. Cary pro- 
nounced him in condition to receive a visitor. 

Paul came during the hour before dinner. 
He was prepared to find his brother looking ill, 
but was really shocked to see a little person who 
seemed to have no color except in eyes and hair, 
and who looked pathetically thin and small in 
a blue dressing-gown against his pillows. 

‘‘Why, you poor forlorn little scrap!” ex- 
claimed Paul. “What have they been doing to 
you?” 

Archer hugged him with all his strength. 
“Oh, it is nice to see you, Paul!” he sighed. 


GABRIEL, INVALID 249 

‘‘Miss Ruth says I may sit up a few minutes 
and I thought we could both sit in the big chair 
by the fire. ’ ^ 

A far less affectionate brother than Paul 
would have yielded to this appeal. Presently 
they were established in the designated chair, 
Archer perfectly radiant and talking as though 
he had a year to make up for. 

“Mother sprained her ankle,’’ he began. 
“Did you know? That’s why she didn’t come 
to take care of me. It would have been so 
beautiful to have her. But she writes every 
day, and Tony writes sometimes and Uncle 
Court, too. And Patsy stays with me now. He 
is quite used to living here. Did you know 
Patsy was a very valuable cat?” 

“Well, I’ve always suspected he wasn’t an 
ordinary beast,” replied Paul gravely. 

“No, he isn’t,” agreed Archer. “He is a 
high-bred kitten. See how beautiful his coat 
has grown ! And he is fatter, too. When any- 
body picks him up he doesn’t slide around so 
in his skin. But I do wish he’d stop burning 
off his whiskers on the radiator. Miss Ruth 
brushes and combs him every morning and he 
sits on her lap and likes it. His hair is parted 


250 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

clear down to his tail. Miss Ruth combed my 
hair that way once but it wasn’t as becoming 
to me as it is to Patsy. What have you been 
doing all this long time, Paul?” 

‘‘Oh, lots of things! Studying and skiing 
and gym and debates. I’m pretty busy because 
I mean to take my preliminaries this next 
term. ’ ’ 

“What’s that?” asked Archer, cuddling 
closer. 

“Examinations, for college, you know. I 
can take some this year, and if I pass, then I 
don’t have so many next year. ” 

“Do I have to take them?” 

“Well, not for some years,” laughed Paul. 
“You needn’t worry about them just yet. How 
have you been getting on?” 

“I haven’t done very much,” replied Archer. 
“I feel more rested when I stay in bed. But 
Miss Ruth reads to me and a great many let- 
ters come. I don’t mind about anything now 
my throat has stopped aching. Did you go to 
the tea that Lansing gave for his cousin?” 

“Yes,” said Paul. “How did you know 
about it?” 

“Lansing wrote me a letter. He said he 


GABRIEL, INVALID 251 

told his mother he wanted to give this tea and 
asked her to send him some little cakes. She 
sent eighty-nine hermits and sixty-seven maca- 
roons. They looked very nice. Three of each 
came to me, but I couldn’t eat them because 
they were too scratchy for my sore throat. So 
we gave them to Farquhar. He’s laid up 
across the corridor with a broken leg which 
doesn’t prevent his eating anything he wants. 
But do you know, Uncle Court wrote that he 
was coming to Boston some time this month 
and was going to bring Tony with him. 
They’ll come out here to see us. I’ve been 
thinking that I’ll give a tea for Tony. Do you 
think she would like itU’ 

Paul gave an amused chuckle. Archer was 
as good as sunshine for dispersing the clouds 
of the past fortnight. ‘‘As Tony herself would 
say, she’d simply adore it!” 

“There’s one great difficulty,” Archer went 
on, “and that’s about the tea. I’m so afraid 
Mrs. Holmes won’t let me have any.” 

“That would be a blight,” said Paul. “See 
here! We’ll give a combination affair in my 
study. I can have all the tea we want and you 
shall ask three of your friends to meet Tony 


252 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

and Idl ask three of mine. How will that 
do?” 

‘‘Great I” said Archer. “I thought you’d 
fix it. And can we have cake and things?” 

“Sure! And chocolates for Tony and per- 
haps maple sugar; she loves it. Ill invite 
Barrows, too. It always pleases him to have 
the boys ask him when they entertain mothers 
or relatives, and he can talk with Uncle Court.” 

Archer gave a sigh of satisfaction. “You 11 
invite Lansing, won’t you? Did you know how 
he and Hotchkiss came and made snow animals 
under my window? We heard somebody 
laughing and joking outside and Miss Ruth 
looked out, but only saw two big boys doing 
something in the snow. Later, they called up 
through a megaphone for me to look out in the 
morning. I do like megaphones, Paul. After 
the Faulkner game, I found one in the chapel 
and I asked Mr. Carter if I might give out the 
hymns through it but he wouldn’t let me. 
Well, in the morning. Miss Ruth carried me 
over to the window, and there was a snow dog, 
and an elephant with a funny trunk and a very 
tough-looking cat labeled Patsy. Their legs 
got soft pretty soon and they sort of sat down. 


GABRIEL, INVALID 253 

but I liked them very much. And were you 
with the choir when they came and sang after 
rehearsal 

week ago? No, I cut practice that 

night.’’ 

^'I didn’t hear your voice, but I loved their 
music. Mr. Carter was with them. Mrs. Car- 
ter has sent me jelly twice, and Mrs. Hilton 
jelly and flowers and Mr. Pomeroy sent a book 
and said he missed me. But it’s best of any- 
thing to see you, Paul.” 

Miss Schimmelhorn looked in and glanced 
at the clock. Her patient ought not to talk 
much more, ought to be back in bed. But some- 
thing she saw in Paul’s face made her delay 
her entrance for another five minutes. Some 
rumor of the trouble the older Arnold had 
been through had reached her. It looked as 
though this interview was resting him as well 
as Archer. 

^^And did you ever read that book there?” 
Archer asked when he was finally put back in 
the narrow bed. ‘^Skinny lent it to me. He 
likes it but Miss Ruth said she didn’t think I 
would.” 

Paul glanced at the title. once read three 


254 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

chapters of it/’ he replied gravely. ‘‘Then I 
looked under my bed before I got in!” 

“I guess we won’t read it,” laughed Archer. 
“This one here is the best of all. Patterson 
sent it. He said it was Nelly’s favorites! book 
of fairy tales and he got it in Boston on pur- 
pose for me. I like it so much that I don’t 
want to read it for fear of finishing it. I 
haven’t had a chance to thank him yet, because 
when I write only to Mother, the pencil gets so 
heavy. If you see him, will you tell him that 
Miss Ruth and I both think it is dandy?” 

A shadow crossed Paul’s face. For a mo- 
ment he did not speak. “I must go now, 
Archer,” he said, gently freeing himself from 
the clinging hands. “I’m not very likely to 
see Patterson to speak with. You’d better get 
Miss Ruth to help you write a note of thanks. 
You can tell her what to say and I’m sure she’ll 
write it.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


PETVATE DETECTIVE LANSING 

WISH,’’ said Phil Lansing one evening a 
week later, ‘Hhat I were Sherlock Holmes and 
Scotland Yard and the Paris prefect of police 
rolled into one ! ’ ’ 

Hotchkiss and Lawrence greeted this modest 
ambition with a jeer. ‘‘So you could unravel 
this affair of the Chase essay, I suppose,” said 
Pops. 

“Sure! You would behold it evolve before 
my eagle eye as easily as I’m going to broil 
this fish,” replied Phil from the hearth rug. 
Being Wednesday night, an impromptu feast 
was in process of preparation. Harry, con- 
structing coffee on a spirit lamp, permitted it 
to boil over at this point. 

“Pops, you lazy lobster, lend a hand,” he 
ordered. ‘’‘Golly, what a mess!” 

“What’s the dif.?” said Pops lazily. “Phil 
likes spots on his rug. Makes ’em himself 
sometimes.” 


265 


256 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘T’ll make a few on Harry when I get this 
fish fried/ ^ threatened Phil. ‘‘Why don’t 
Alex and Paul come? I thought our winning 
from Faulkner at hockey last Saturday would 
cheer Paul up, but it hasn’t. And it was a 
good licking, too, — four to one.” 

“Pops sure put in fine work,” said Harry 
approvingly. “You were a dandy guard and 
no mistake. Thirty-eight stops is some rec- 
ord.” 

“Yet it was Pops who let them score,” 
teased Phil, turning over his broiler. “When 
he got put out of the game for four minutes.” 

“It was an outrage!” said Pops heatedly. 
“They said I slashed. I didn’t, and even if I 
had, it wasn’t fair to penalize me for so long.” 

Lansing chuckled. “Pops, my love, you 
were penalized exactly one minute for possible 
slashing; you got the rest for talking back to 
the referee.” 

Pops grinned. “Well, I had that satisfac- 
tion anyway.” 

“Was it unmixed satisfaction?” went on 
Lansing slyly. “Didn’t Barry give you a call- 
down, too?” 

Pops shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, he did 


DETECTIVE LANSING 257 

get off some bromide about getting too excited 
to remember that I was a gentleman. But I 
could have slain that referee! He’s a man 
with a beastly, nasty, disagreeable temper. 
He put me out just to save his own face.” 

Lansing laughed again. “Pops, my son, you 
handed him considerable cheek. But come, get 
busy. Open that can of peas and set it to 
warm.” 

“Let’s put it in unopened,” suggested Pres- 
ton, turning it over in his fingers. “It’ll warm 
much sooner.” 

“Go ahead,” agreed Phil. “Try it and 
watch it blow up. Oh, punch a hole in it and 
then go and rout out Study 18.” 

Pops complied. “Paul’s coming in a 
minute,” he reported. “Alex broke his gog- 
gles and has gone to bed with a sick headache.” 

“What a beastly shame!” said Phil. “He 
can’t come at all?” 

“Nope,” said Pops. “Paul took the glasses 
to the optician in the village and they are to 
be sent up this evening. But he says Alex 
really is sick and wants to be let alone. Paul 
doesn’t act like himself either.” 

“Reason enough,” retorted Phil, transfer- 


258 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

ring his nicely broiled fish to a large sheet of 
brown paper spread flat on the long-suffering 
rug. ‘‘Lemon! Salt! A knife! What ho! 
Minions, attend on me game ankle. But just 
watch Private Detective Lansing getting busy 
on his job.’^ 

PauPs appearance cut short any further dis- 
sertation on PhiPs part. The fish being 
served, the cook arose from the hearth. Pro- 
moted from crutches to a cane, he was able to 
hobble around with more ease. 

“Barry’s giving a feed in his study,” Paul 
remarked. “Three ladies and Chapin and Dr. 
Cary. Told me he should be engaged this even- 
ing so it was up to me to keep an eye on things. ’ ’ 

Hotchkiss, taking the peas from the fire, here 
tipped the can. Though a great hissing re- 
sulted, fortunately but few peas were spilled. 

‘ ‘ Only another spot on the rug, ’ ’ he groaned. 
“Somebody knocked. Pops. See who it is, will 
you?” 

Lawrence obediently opened the door. 
“Why, Gabriel, and is it yourself? Delighted! 
Walk in.” 

Archer entered, but stopped at sight of the 
feast. “I came to find Paul,” he explained 


DETECTIVE LANSING 


259 

rather shyly. ‘‘Alex was in bed and he said 
he was here. I didn’t mean to interrupt a 
party.” 

“You’re its most welcome guest!” said Phil 
hospitably, while Harry slapped him on the 
shoulder and Paul held out a welcoming hand. 
“Here, have some of my fish. When did you 
escape from the infirmary? Who were your 
accomplices ? ’ ’ 

“They let me out this afternoon,” replied 
Archer, going to his brother’s side. “I’ve 
had my dinner. And I don’t want any fish, — 
I truly don’t. Mrs. Holmes said I might come 
to see Paul for just fifteen minutes.” 

“You poor kid!” said Phil. “You look like 
a — a rain-washed bone, as the poet says. And 
you’ve grown two inches. Don’t you honestly 
want some fish? Well, we’re jolly glad to see 
you. Couldn’t you drink some coffee?” 

“Don’t!” protested Paul. “He mustn’t 
have it. If you’ve got any sense, Phil, do use 
it.” 

Archer suddenly smiled, his white little face 
lighting up in just its old radiant way. “I 
liked my snow animals,” he said, “and the 
things from your tea, too. Everybody was so 


26 o ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


good to me that it was ’most worth while being 
sick. ’ ’ 

‘‘Gabriel, don’t mention it,” responded Lan- 
sing solemnly. “The obligation is wholly 
ours. Jinks! what’s that!” 

Both electric lights suddenly went out, leav- 
ing the study illuminated only by the dying 
fire. 

“Power-house gone on a strike,” suggested 
Harry. “No, for Sanderson and Brandon are 
lighted. Our circuit perhaps.” 

“Here, catch my plate. Archer,” said Paul. 
He opened the study door to find the corridor 
lights extinguished. A glow from the stair- 
way showed that the third floor had not been 
affected by the trouble. 

“Somebody has blown out the fuse!” he 
ejaculated in disgust. 

Occupants of second-floor rooms began to 
emerge, shadowy forms to romp and rough- 
house in the hall. “Light! Light! We want 
light ! ’ ’ they chanted. ‘ ‘ Send forth thy light ! ’ ’ 
sang one musical lad. 

Harry had touched a match to one of the 
candles on the mantel and handed it to Paul. 

“Look here, fellows!” began Paul indig- 


DETECTIVE LANSING 261 


nantly. ‘‘This is the second time somebody 
has burned out a fuse within a month. It’s 
got to stop. That type of humor doesn’t ap- 
peal to the house in general.” 

“We want light!” responded the chorus in 
excellent time and tune. 

“You’ll get it when you make it!” retorted 
Paul. “I have a candle here and it’s a mat- 
ter of perfect indifference to me whether the 
rest of you sit in darkness or not. The fellow 
who blew out that fuse can ask Mr. Barrows 
for another and go down cellar and put it in. 
And until he does it, you can jolly well stay in 
the dark.” 

Back in the study Phil giggled. “Take 
notes, Gabriel,” he chuckled. “Then, when 
you’re House-president of Foster, you’ll know 
how to deal with naughty boys who blow out 
fuses.” 

“How did they do it?” asked Archer won- 
deringly. 

“Come here,” said Lansing with a sud- 
den laugh. “Listen,” he whispered. “Paul 
would whale me if he knew I told you but I 
will. Take a cent, just a common copper cent 
and screw it in between a bulb and the socket. 


262 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


That^s what does the job. But in the end, you 
always have to own up and it usually means a 
demerit. It’s really not considered scream- 
ingly funny, Gabriel. Going to try it to-night 
when you get over to Clarke ? ’ ’ 

‘‘To-night would he the best time if I were 
ever going to,” replied Archer, sliding an arm 
around Lansing’s neck. “They were rather 
glad to have me back from the infirmary and 
if I burned out a fuse, Pummy would only send 
me to bed, and I’ve got to go anyway.” 

“Take my advice and don’t,” said Phil, hug- 
ging him in return. “You know how it’s done 
and you know what’ll happen, so where’s the 
fun? Jinks! Here comes Barrows. I’ll bet 
his lights went out, too.” 

In truth the mischief-maker had inadver- 
tently put out the master’s lights. Having 
guests, Mr. Barrows was naturally annoyed and 
came upstairs in haste. He stopped on hear- 
ing Paul already expostulating with the of- 
fenders. 

The crowd was evidently somewhat taken 
aback by their House-president’s ultimatum. 
Murmurs of disapproval began to arise. The 


DETECTIVE LANSING 263 

prospect of an evening spent in darkness didn’t 
look much fun. 

‘‘Will putting in a fuse end the matter?” in- 
quired a disguised voice from the shadows. 

“So far as the House is concerned,” replied 
Paul. “Mr. Barrows will probably give who- 
ever did it a demerit. ’ ’ 

“Mr. Barrows is here,” said that gentleman 
calmly. “I have a lamp in my study and as 
Arnold says, it is a matter of inditference to 
me whether the rest of you have any illumina- 
tion or not. If the fellow who burned out that 
fuse doesn’t put one in within the next five 
minutes, I’d advise the rest of you to compel 
him to do so.” 

Harry and Preston had strolled to the door 
to look on at the controversy, but Lansing’s 
ankle had kept him to the couch. Seeing the 
others all intent on what was taking place out- 
side, he suddenly turned to Archer. 

“Listen to me, Gabriel,” he said softly, 
catching him by the chin. “Patterson is al- 
ways decent to you. Tell me now, — ^I’ve a 
reason for asking, — ^has Patterson ever said 
anything to you about Paul?” 


264 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

Archer considered him. There was very lit- 
tle light in the room. He could not make out 
the expression of Lansing’s face, hut the merry 
voice was unusually serious. 

‘‘About Paul?” he repeated. “I don’t think 
we ever talk of him.” 

“Patterson has never said anything to make 
you think he didn’t like him?” 

“Not like Paul?” Archer gravely shook his 
head. “Doesn’t he?” he inquired wonder- 
ingly. 

Lansing released the chin he held. “Check 
number one, Private Detective L.,” he re- 
marked. ‘ ‘ ‘ The plot is deeper than I thought ! ’ 
Well, has Patterson ever asked you to do any 
errands for him? To a master’s study, for 
instance?” 

“Never,” said Archer with evident sincerity. 
“Why?” 

“I have a curious habit of asking questions 
with my tongue, Gabriel. Are they going to 
pitch you right back into all your classes ? ’ ’ 

“No,” said Archer, smiling. “I’m to be ex- 
cused from afternoon school till Dr. Cary says 
not. I ought to go back now. Only I do want 
to see if the light comes on.” 


DETECTIVE LANSING 265 

The other three returned to the dim study. 
‘‘Go easy on the fish/’ warned Phil. “You 
may get bones in your throat. Better eat peas 
till somebody’s conscience gets busy. Who did 
it, Pauir’ 

“I don’t know and I don’t want to know, 
either. These kids with a stunted sense of the 
funny make me tired. ’ ’ 

“Then you’ll sleep all the better to-night,” 
said Phil sweetly. “There she comes!” 

The lights fiashed on as suddenly as they 
went off. PauPs annoyed expression disap- 
peared. 

“I’m afraid I must go,” said Archer reluc- 
tantly. “I’d like so much to stay. It’s nicer 
here and they will make me go to bed.” 

“Wish you could stay,” said Paul, helping 
him into his coat. “Cheer up, old fellow. 
You’ll soon be feeling more frisky.” 

As he spoke, Paul carefully buttoned the red 
Mackinaw and turned the collar up around 
Archer’s ears. “Have you got on your rub- 
bers?” he demanded. “Don’t you dare stir 
one step without them until June!” 

“Tell him to practice what he preaches, Ga- 
briel,” advised Preston. 


266 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


^‘Good-night, old chap! Come again!’’ said 
the others. 

Archer departed, bestowing upon them a 
rather weary little smile, for the exciting after- 
noon had left him fatigued. 

“He doesn’t look fit to be out,” growled Paul. 

“Nice kid,” observed Pops. “If anybody 
had told me last fall that I could really be as 
fond of any of the little chaps as I’ve grown 
of Gabriel, I wouldn’t have believed it.” 

“Gabriel,” said Phil solemnly, “is a little 
bit of all right. Odd, isn’t it, considering 
whose brother he is ! But I wonder — ” 

Phil fell into a brown study, lasting until 
Pops and Harry withdrew to the bathroom to 
wash the dishes. The cook being unanimously 
excused, Paul was detailed to entertain 
him. 

“Old cow,” said Lansing, when they were 
alone. “I’ve had an idea about that essay. 
Let me talk just a minute,” he added, for at 
the very mention, Paul had flinched. “Has it 
entered your head that Patterson himself might 
have taken or caused it to be taken away?” 

“It’s the one thing I do think,” said Paul 
bitterly. 


DETECTIVE LANSING 267 

Lansing whistled. ^^Then I^m not so bright 
as I thought/’ he remarked. 

‘‘It’s not much use to talk,” said Paul, pok- 
ing the fire. “I mentioned that theory to Alex 
and he landed on me like a thousand of brick. 
I imagine it never occurred to either the Doc- 
tor or Barrows. What’s the use? There’s no 
way of proving anything. When I stop being 
hot about it long enough to do so, I know he’s 
not worth caring about. The thing that really 
gets me, — the thing I stick at swallowing, is 
his being so friendly toward Archer.” 

“I know it,” said Phil, eyes on the fire. 

“And yet,” Paul went on, “when I once 
pitched into the kid for talking with Patterson, 
Archer made me feel like thirty cents. For 
some reason, Patterson has taken a fancy to 
him. I wouldn’t condescend to ask again what 
they were talking about, but that time it had 
nothing to do with school. And low-down as 
T believe Patterson to be — I believe he helped 
lose both those games last fall, and I believe he 
knows about this essay business — I still think 
he does show Archer a different side. There 
is something in the kid, you know, that appeals 
to what’s decent in the fellows.” 


268 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘‘Yes, I know,’’ Phil agreed. “Then yon 
think he really likes Gabriel in the same way 
the rest of us do?” 

“Looks that way. The kid is so fond of me 
and he’s so clever that I can’t think he’d really 
be taken in by a fellow who tried to set him 
against me. Apparently, Patterson never has 
tried it. No, strange as it may seem, I believe 
he likes Archer just for himself.” 

“Has Patterson ever spoken to you about it, 
this essay business, I mean?” 

“The last words Patterson and I exchanged 
were four months ago when I ordered him out 
of the Faulkner game.” 

A silence followed Paul’s curt reply. “It’s 
a pity,” said Phil at last, “that you can’t go 
to Patterson and have it out between you. 
Lick him if necessary, but clear things up.” 

“I’ve no patience for an argument and no 
desire to dirty my hands licking him. It’s no 
use, Phil. I appreciate your wanting to help 
me but there’s nothing to be done.” 

“But I do want to ask you another question. 
You said you noticed the pile of essays when 
you went into Barry’s study. Tell me, where 
on the desk were they?” 


DETECTIVE LANSING 269 

Paul considered. ‘‘At tlie left hand, I think. 
Just where he would naturally place them to be 
out of the way.’’ 

Phil gave a satisfied nod. “Near the win- 
dow. Do you know a kid over in Brandon 
named Adams?” 

“Know who he is. He is rather thick with 
Patterson.” 

“Exactly. Now listen to your Uncle Phil. 
That Wednesday afternoon I was doing up 
some Christmas presents. I remember the 
date because they had a long way to go and 
Mother wrote me not to forget to start them 
early. Well, I was working here at my desk 
when Adams came shinning down the fire es- 
cape. It was after dusk for I had my light on 
and I didn’t see him until he was outside the 
window. He’d been visiting Shoestrings. 
They are chummy, you know. It was a warm 
evening, really hot for the time of year and 
my window was up. Adams leaned in over the 
sill and spoke to me. Then he reached in and 
took a book I was about to wrap. He looked 
at it and we talked a minute or two and then 
he went on down the escape.” 

“Well, what has that to do with it?” 


270 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘‘My study,’’ said Phil impressively, “is di- 
rectly over Barrows’. If Adams could reach 
in and take a book from my desk, what’s to 
prevent his reaching in as he passed Barrows’ 
window and taking an essay?” 

There was a silence. “Nothing,” said Paul, 
“provided the window was open.” 

“He could easily open it if it wasn’t locked 
and they never are,” went on Lansing. “But 
while in some respects this is a perfectly good 
theory, there are two points in which it doesn’t 
hold water.” 

“One,” said Paul, “is the fact that if Adams 
had it on his mind to do a dirty job for Patter- 
son, he wouldn’t have been likely to stop and 
talk. He’d have shinned past the window with- 
out attracting your attention.” 

“Exactly,” agreed Phil. “And the other 
stumps me even more. The first time Doc Hil- 
ton spoke of the affair in chapel, of course it 
was all news to me. But when he began on it 
for the second time, I’d done some thinking and 
I glued my eagle eye on Adams. He never 
turned a hair and Doc said some things that 
would have made a dog squirm if he’d done it. 
So I was dished. You know, I can’t see how a 


DETECTIVE LANSING 271 

fellow with a single spark of manliness in him 
could have listened to Doc that last time and 
not have owned up. Why, I fell to considering 
my own sins on the spot!’’ 

Paul smiled. ‘‘Doc can make a fellow do 
some thinking. No, if Patterson took the es- 
say, I think he took it himself.” 

Lansing was silent for a moment. “That 
was my second theory,” he explained, “and 
that’s gone up. Now, I don’t know what to 
think. I did have a wild idea that perhaps Pat- 
terson had been using Gabriel as a cat’s paw, 
but I asked the kid two questions to-night while 
you were out settling the row, and I saw at 
once that Gabriel was as unconscious of any- 
thing wrong as an infant in arms. But that is 
a queer friendship.” 

“Yes,” sighed Paul. “I don’t like it. Still, 
the kid convinced me that it was all on the 
square. And the kid isn’t good at lying.” 

“Then the only thing left is Patterson’s tak- 
ing it himself. And if he didn’t, something 
must have happened without any one’s being to 
blame. A gust of wind may have swept it 
away.” 

‘ ‘ Quite likely, ’ ’ agreed Paul. ‘ ‘ Any blizzard 


272 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

strong enough to take one paper would, of 
course, have left the rest of the pile unmoved/’ 

‘‘And forty years from now, they will house- 
clean Barrows’ study and find that essay. 
Then the Doctor will send for you both. 
You’ll be a — a consulting engineer like your 
uncle. Patterson, — ^what do you think he’ll be 
then?” 

“Either a con man or a bank president,” re- 
plied Paul coolly. “You lunatic! But that 
reminds me of something Barry told me the 
other day. You know the Pierce medals that 
are given every year to the first three in 
the graduating class? Only a fellow has to 
win one by character as well as scholar- 
ship. Well, once, about thirty years ago, 
— ^yes, it must have been as long as that, — 
there were two fellows here who would have 
had medals. But the very week of graduation, 
just before commencement, they were caught 
playing cards, poker, I think. That was an 
awful crime in those days and they wouldn’t 
give the poor ducks their medals. So they 
went away in disgrace. But the medals were 
marked with their names so they couldn’t be 
used for any one else. 


DETECTIVE LANSING 


273 


“Well, when old Fairfax died, and Doc Hil- 
ton became principal, ten years ago, he was 
looking through the office safe and found the 
two medals in their boxes. He read the names 
and the date and didn’t know why they were 
there. So he inquired and found out what had 
happened. Then he went to work and looked 
up the record of those two boys. One is a 
missionary bishop, the kind that does a whop- 
ping amount of good, you know, one of the 
alumni St. Stephen’s is proudest of. And the 
other was a United States senator!” 

“Cracky!” exclaimed Lansing. 

“The next time the trustees of the school 
had a meeting, Doc Hilton took those medals 
and told them all about it. There was only one 
man left on the board who remembered the af- 
fair. They passed a unanimous vote to give 
those medals to their rightful owners. So Doc 
sent them on and wrote to each. The bishop 
was tickled to pieces. Said he’d forgotten all 
about it, but was as pleased as Punch to have 
it. And the senator gave the school the money 
to build Brandon Hall.” 

“That just goes to prove what I was say- 
ing!” went on Lansing triumphantly. “When 


274 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

they do clean up Foster, after fifty years or so, 
this essay business will all come to light and 
you ^11 have justice in your old age. Let^s see. 
After half a century youdl be sixty-seven. 
Paul, I’m sorry you’ll have to wait that long!” 

‘Tf the bishop had forgotten his medal, I 
reckon I’ll forget this before then!” laughed 
Paul. ‘‘But, look here, Phil, don’t try any 
more to ferret things out. It’s a sort of com- 
fort to know somebody else thinks what I do, 
but the matter will have to end there. If Pat- 
terson could listen to what Doc said in chapel 
and not care, nothing you could do would have 
any effect. Honest, I would rather you let 
things alone.” 

A clash of crockery in the hall indicated that 
Harry and Pops had finished their task. “All 
right, ’ ’ said Phil hastily. “ I ’ll call off my dogs 
of war. But just remember when my ankle 
gets well. I’ll wipe up the earth with Patter- 
son any time you say.” 


CHAPTER XXn 


ON THE RIVEB 

On the following Saturday several of the 
hoys planned to take the one-fifteen train for 
Boston. They would have time to attend the 
matinee and take a look around the shops be- 
fore returning to Riverview. 

Paul, Harry, Alex, and Preston agreed to 
meet at the station. Three of them were 
prompt but when the train pulled in, Paul had 
not appeared. Greatly disgusted, the others 
went without him, wondering what had delayed 
him. 

Nothing more important than a broken shoe- 
lace, but it was enough. Paul was a quarter 
of a mile from the station when he heard the 
train whistle and knew he could not make it. 
Still, he sprinted for all he was worth, only to 
see the signal flags on the rear disappearing 
around a curve. 

The next train did not leave until after three 
o’clock and a trip into town at that hour was 
275 


276 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

merely an aggravation. The disappointment 
was keen, for he had anticipated the fun of go- 
ing with his friends and the change from quiet 
Riverview to busy Boston. One or two er- 
rands he had really counted upon doing. Well, 
there was no help for it. How should he spend 
the afternoon? 

Paul felt thoroughly annoyed with himself 
as he walked moodily uptown. His most in- 
timate chums were on that train, save Phil, who 
was incapacitated. He could put in the after- 
noon on the ice, and now he thought of it, the 
idea of a long, lonely skating trip rather ap- 
pealed to him. On reaching the main street 
of the village he turned into a grocer’s to buy 
some sweet chocolate. 

Two other boys were there, one our friend 
Shoestrings, who gave Paul a grin of greeting. 
The other paid no attention to his entrance 
but went on with his purchases. Paul watched 
him idly. What did Patterson want with 
barley? Quaker oats, as well? A piece of 
suet? What in creation was he going to cook? 

Had it been any other lad in school, Paul 
would probably have put a joking question or 
two, but nothing could induce him to address 


ON THE RIVER 


277 

Patterson, who paid for his purchases, had 
them tied in a compact package and left the 
store without apparently even seeing Paul. 

Having obtained his chocolate, Paul returned 
to school, got into skating garb, took his heavy 
gloves and went down the corridor to Lansing ^s 
room. Even now, if Phil had any other 
thought for the afternoon, he would change his 
plans. But the study was vacant. Phil might 
be in any room in any of the scattered build- 
ings. To look for him was only a waste of 
time. Paul made no effort to find him and 
started for the river. 

The day was very cold, but clear, sunny and 
still. The week had afforded the best skating 
of the season, and the ice was covered with 
boys. Four separate hockey games were go- 
ing on, with numerous spectators for each. 
Paul sat down on the edge of the boat-house 
platform to take off his ordinary shoes and put 
on the heavy high boots to which his skates 
were firmly screwed. He was immediately sur- 
rounded by hockey players begging him to join 
them. Paul shook his head. He really wanted 
to get away from everybody for a little. 

Toward the other bank of the river a num- 


278 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

ber of lads were busy over a pile of fuel and 
old barrels which would form the basis of a 
bonfire that evening. It was a custom at St. 
Stephen's on a night during the winter term 
when skating was good, for the school to have 
an ‘^all out.^’ This meant permission to stay 
on the river till ten or eleven, to skate, play 
games and sing around a bonfire. Some of the 
janitors were bringing old rubbish to add to 
the pile collected by the boys and from the look 
of things the fire bade fair to be one of the 
largest ever lighted at school. 

As Paul was lacing his second boot a little 
figure skated up. ‘‘What are you doing here, 
Archer?” he inquired. “You’re only just out 
of the infirmary, you know. You ought to be 
careful. ” 

“I wanted to use my new skates,” said Ar- 
cher rather soberly. “But I haven’t skated 
much. Patsy does behave so badly. He 
would come with me and he will chase the puck. 
It wouldn’t matter so much if he’d stick to us, 
because we are patient with him, but he goes 
and butts into all the games. The big fellows 
said I must take him away or they wouldn’t be 
responsible if he got his brains knocked out. 


ON THE RIVER 


279 

And then they said he didn’t have any brains, 
anyhow. ’ ’ 

Archer looked at the maligned kitten, clasped 
in his arms. Two round eyes were still fol- 
lowing the movements of that fascinating disk; 
a beautiful plumed tail twitched slowly from 
side to side. 

‘‘Patsy ate a rubber band this morning,” he 
remarked thoughtfully. “It was quite a thick, 
fat one. Perhaps that’s what makes him act 
so.” 

Paul laughed outright. “No doubt. That 
explains his elastic spirits. But he sure will 
have his head stove in if you let him loose. Bet- 
ter take him up to the house. And I’d stay 
there if I were you. It’s cold and if you can’t 
skate fast, you’ll get chilled. Take a rest this 
afternoon and then you’ll be fresh for the bon- 
fire this evening.” 

“I can’t come,” said Archer dejectedly. 

“Why, they always let the kids come when 
the Upper school has its bonfire,” said Paul 
kindly. “Or is it because of your throat!’* 

Archer shook his head. “Neither Boy Blue 
nor I may come,” he said soberly. “Patsy, do 
keep still. You can’t have that puck!” 


28 o ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


‘‘What have you been doing?’’ asked Paul. 

Archer looked at him. From his brother’s 
tone it seemed probable that he would sympa- 
thize rather than condemn and Archer was 
feeling very blue. 

“Well,” he said, “we experimented with the 
electric lights.” 

“Oh, I see!” said Paul. “And so you don’t 
attend the bonfire?” 

“No,” Archer acknowledged. “Pummy did 
say that he didn’t believe I could have gone, 
anyway. Paul, when they blew out the fuse 
that night at Foster, you didn’t go around and 
ash who did it.” 

“I didn’t need to,” replied Paul. “But you 
might have known that you would have to own 
up. But there’ll be bonfires other years and 
really, you’ll be better off not to be here.” 

“Are you going to skate all alone?” asked 
Archer as Paul rose to his feet. “I wish Uncle 
had given me hockey skates like yours.” 

“Yes, I am going up the river,” answered 
his brother. “There isn’t anybody I want to 
go with me just now.” 

Archer lingered. ‘ ‘ W ould you not like me ? ” 
he inquired very wistfully. 


ON THE RIVER 


281 

Paul smiled. ''Yes, old fellow, I'd like your 
company very mucli but that’s out of the ques- 
tion. It’s too far and you’re shaky on your 
pins as it is. You take Patsy home and find 
somebody to play with in the house. Here, 
have some chocolate.’*’ 

Archer gazed longingly after his brother. 
Paul was flying up the river, rocking grace- 
fully on his flat skates. How did he do it? It 
looked as though he did not even lift his feet 
from the ice. 

For a mile or more, Paul constantly encoun- 
tered friends and acquaintances, playing games 
on the frozen river, practicing figures and other 
tricks, but as he skated rapidly on, the place 
grew more and more lonely. The ice was un- 
usually good. Due to a thaw and a few hours’ 
rain preceding the freeze, it was rough in only 
a few spots and nowhere impassable. 

For a long time Paul followed the curves of 
the winding river, paying very little attention 
to its banks. Now and then he noticed some 
landmark grown familiar in canoeing trips, but 
looking strangely changed in its winter setting. 
The river, too, was higher than he had ex- 
pected. In one grove some low bending birches 


282 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


were caught by their drooping branches and 
compelled to stoop until spring should set them 
free. Curious too, that there should be so 
many birds. Paul saw fox sparrows, juncoes, 
pine-grosbeaks, and others that he did not 
know. He watched them flying from bush to 
bush along the banks of the s-tream and finally 
the odd fancy struck him that they were fol- 
lowing him. 

When he did stop he was several miles from 
school. Before him stretched a little pond. 
With surprise he saw marks of skates on its 
surface. He had noticed them all the way up 
the river and wondered at them for they were 
made by a solitary skater and one who was 
traveling very rapidly. Now they struck off 
around the pond. 

Rather curious to know who shared his own 
desire for solitude, Paul started in the same 
direction. Whoever was responsible for the 
tracks was still ahead of him for there was no 
sign of skates going downstream.. In a short 
distance, the ice showed that the skater had 
turned into a little cove. 

Paul slackened his pace. His curiosity was 
only for the identity of the person ahead of 


ON THE RIVER 


283 

him, he had no intention and no desire to thrust 
himself upon him. He looked cautiously 
around the bushes at the entrance to the cove, 
then stopped in surprise. 

The ice in the inlet was quite populated by 
birds of several species. Kneeling in the midst 
of them, apparently on the friendliest terms 
with them was a boy in a red and black Mack- 
inaw that Paul instantly recognized as belong- 
ing to Patterson. It was the only one of its 
kind in school and something peculiar in its pat- 
tern and weave had caused Phil Lansing to com- 
pare it to a caterpillar. Paul had therefore 
noticed it particularly. 

For a moment he stood amazed. Patterson 
had opened the package brought from the 
grocery and scattered grain around the ice. 
Some of the birds were actually eating from his 
hands and none showed the slightest fear. 
They acted as though they were used to his 
company. 

After taking in the full significance of the 
scene before him, Paul recollected himself and 
with one swift stroke glided quietly beyond 
the inlet and continued on his way around the 
pond. Patterson would know from the ice that 


284 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

some one had been there. He should see that 
the skater had apparently passed directly by. 

Paul circled the pond at racing speed. What 
a queer combination Patterson was! He was 
almost the last boy in school one would have 
suspected of deliberately going off into the 
woods to feed hungry birds. And yet, in a 
way, it fitted in with some other things, his lik- 
ing for Archer, for instance. What an odd 
muddle things were 1 

His speed-skates and the rate at which he was 
traveling soon brought Paul again to the river 
and he turned schoolward. The sun was fast 
reaching the western horizon. There was noth- 
ing like fresh air and exercise for sweeping the 
cobwebs from one’s brain. After all, perhaps 
the afternoon had done him as much good as 
one spent in town. 

He skated rapidly for a mile down the river 
and then looked back. No one was in sight 
and Patterson probably could not now overtake 
him. Still he held his high speed, but allowed 
himself occasional glances at the sunset. 

One of these glances proved his undoing. 
The clouds were glorious and watching them, 
Paul neglected to look ahead. Had he tripped 





t 

\ 

4 

ii 


For a moment he stood amazed. — l*cige 283 


II Tliaiitfhi 





i -T -T* Wf.. ■ 

.' .i4a^. 4*^^ V -j- ■■■ 


J 

;'9 

* . 



ON THE RIVER 


285 

on a twig or a stone, he could probably have 
saved himself. But with eyes fixed on the sun- 
set, Paul skated into a loop of rope frozen into 
the ice. 

The impetus of his motion flung him headlong 
almost before he knew he was falling. With 
no chance to save himself he went down vio- 
lently. 

Fully a moment passed before he came to 
himself sufficiently to know what had happened. 
He was conscious of feeling stiff and bruised 
and then of a pain in his right hand, a pain that 
as he moved the fingers, shot all the way up to 
his shoulder. 

“Wonder if I’ve broken my arm,” he 
thought. Deliberately he lifted it, and despite 
acute pain, moved it sufficiently to make certain 
this was not the case. Pulling off his glove, he 
saw that the hand was already swelling and 
discolored. 

“Sprained it at least,” he reflected. “Well, 
I must get back.” 

He tried to rise to his feet but discovered 
that damage even more hampering had been 
done. The heel of his boot was pulled com- 
pletely off. His left skate hung useless. 


286 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


Paul sank down on the ice. This was a pre- 
dicament. He looked grimly at his shoe. 
Could that heel be pounded on with sufficient 
firmness to permit him to skate back to school? 
If it could, how was he going to do it? Not 
with that arm with twinges of pain continually 
shooting up its bruised muscles and nerves. 
He was five miles up the river and walking that 
distance in his stocking feet was out of the 
question. Perhaps he could slide on one foot 
and drag the detached skate. 

The first attempt convinced Paul that he 
must at least wait until he felt less sick and 
faint. He dragged himself to the bank and sat 
down. 

Patterson tarried some time with the 
feathered pensioners of his bounty, carefully 
tied strips of suet to convenient trees that they 
might find food until he should come again, and 
just as the sun was setting, came out into the 
pond. As Paul anticipated, he instantly no- 
ticed the cut ice, showing that some one had 
passed. But the visitor had so evidently 
passed that he did not give it another thought 
as he started down the stream. The twilight 


ON THE RIVER 287 

would be long and there would be a moon to 
throw light on his homeward path. 

A mile down the river he turned a curve and 
swung into view of a boy sitting on the bank. 
He did not look up at hearing the click of skates, 
nor did Patterson at first recognize him. He 
glided up, intending to hail a probable school- 
mate. 

Paul was not surprised, since he had known 
that Patterson was on the river, but the mo- 
ment was awkward for both. Patterson 
sheered off without speaking, then noticed that 
Arnold was very pale and that something was 
wrong with one skate. 

‘‘Can I help you!’’ he asked at length in a 
constrained voice. 

“No, thank you,’’ said Paul stiffly. 

Patterson skated slowly backward. Some- 
thing serious was wrong and he knew it. Ar- 
nold was in trouble, but he had offered assist- 
ance and been refused. After that, it was none 
of his business. Still, he hesitated a second be- 
fore vanishing around the curve of the river. 

For another five minutes Paul sat where he 
was. His head was steadier now, but hand 


288 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 


and arm were very painful. He rose and made 
an effort to slide on his one secure skate and 
push with the other foot. For a few rods this 
answered fairly well, then the semi-detached 
skate caught and almost threw him. Sitting 
down on the hank, he tried to separate the skate 
completely from the shoe, an undertaking dif- 
ficult at any time without the proper tools and 
impossible with his left hand alone. 

Well, what was to be done? Should he take 
off both boots and walk? The night was 
steadily growing colder and his feet would be 
in terrible condition before he reached his des- 
tination, — if he ever got there. Was there a 
house where he could obtain help ? None by the 
river, certainly, and progress over the snow 
covered fields to a farm would be even more 
difficult than on the ice. 

There was just one possible solution. Could 
he only get that heel pounded back in place, 
the skate might hold if he moved very slowly 
and carefully. 

Paul unlaced his boot. This was not difficult 
with his left hand but getting the heel in place 
was another matter. Engaged in this attempt, 
his attention divided between his task and the 


ON THE RIVER 289 

constant pain of his right arm, he did not hear 
Patterson’s approach. 

‘‘Whether you like it or not, Arnold, I can’t 
go down the river and leave you here. I see 
you’ve had an accident. Let me fix that 
heel.” 

Paul looked up. Patterson, standing before 
him, looked straight back, then went down on 
one knee to examine the skate. Without a 
word he took the stone Paul had been futilely 
trying to use and pounded the heel into place. 

“There!” he said. “Just put that on.” 

Paul pulled the boot on and flushed with an- 
noyance at his inability to manipulate the laces. 
“I’ve strained my hand,” he remarked in dig- 
nified apology. 

“That rope is a real danger,” said Patter- 
son, lacing the boot quickly. “I happened to 
notice it when I came up or I might have come 
a cropper myself. There, if you skate care- 
fully I think that should hold,” he ended, ris- 
ing to his feet. 

“Thank you,” said Paul. “I am much 
obliged.” 

Patterson stood watching as Paul took a 
tentative stroke or two. “That looks as 


290 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

though it would go,’’ he remarked. He skated 
slowly after, keeping at a little distance. 

“I won’t detain you,” said Paul, speaking 
with a courtesy that deprived the words of any 
secondary meaning. ‘T shall have to crawl 
down the river but I’m all right now.” 

He had scarcely spoken when an involuntary 
motion of his right arm sent the color from his 
face. 

‘‘The heel’s all right,” said Patterson, “but 
you aren’t.” 

With the words he skated alongside. “Your 
arm will feel better if you can hold it up. I’ll 
rig a sling.” 

He cast a glance at Paul’s coat, saw that its 
belt was undetachable, pulled off the one be- 
longing to his own jacket and with the aid of a 
pin improvised a rest for the injured arm. It 
was done so cleverly and so quickly that Paul 
had scarcely time to protest. The instant re- 
lief to the aching arm silenced any further com- 
ment. 

“Now,” said Patterson quietly, “just play 
I’m Phil Lansing or anybody else you choose 
for a few minutes.” 


ON THE RIVER 


291 

As he spoke, he took PauPs left arm and 
struck out down the river. 

‘T hate to put you to all this trouble,’’ said 
Paul after a moment. 

‘T don’t mind,” replied Patterson. ‘‘You 
got a nasty fall.” 

Dead silence followed this remark. Paul in- 
stantly thought of two other occasions when he 
had gone headlong, on each of which Patterson 
had been present. He wondered what his com- 
panion was really thinking. His skate was be- 
having very well. To be sure, he was putting 
no strain on the heel, for both were skating with 
that rocking motion Archer had so admired, 
and though their speed was moderate, they 
were fast covering the distance to school. 
Paul’s arm was still painful but it no longer 
ached with that intolerable sickening throb. 
And Patterson’s strong shoulder on the other 
side was an undeniable help. He felt that 
courtesy required some conversation with his 
benefactor, but what on earth had he to say to 
Patterson or Patterson to him? So in silence 
they traversed the river. 

The sun was set, but snow and the approach- 


292 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

ing moon made everything perfectly visible. 
The boys were gone from the upper reaches of 
the ice, nor on reaching the boat-house were 
any lads left about the prepared bonfire. 

^ A^ouTe late for dinner, thanks to me,’^ said 
Paul, as he sat down to remove his boots. 

‘‘These your shoes inquired Patterson. 
“Can you get into them?’’ 

“I won’t stop to lace them,” said Paul. “I 
am under great obligations, Patterson, and I 
thank you very much. Oh, here ’s your belt. ’ ’ 

“It’s no more than you would have done 
yourself,” replied Patterson in a voice wholly 
without the sneering tone Paul associated with 
his usual manner. 

Paul found his way to Foster. Every one 
was at dinner and he gained his room un- 
noticed. But when Alex came up, he was dis- 
tressed indeed at Paul’s condition. Mr. Bar- 
rows, hearing of the accident, visited Study 18 
and promptly dispatched Harry for Dr. Cary. 

Later in the evening, Paul and Lansing sat 
together, watching the scene on the river. The 
leaping flames of the bonfire lighted the ice and 
the figures of the skaters, flitting to and fro. 


ON THE RIVER 


293 

playing games and doing tricks. Dr. Caryls 
careful treatment had made PauPs arm far 
more comfortable. So long as he did not move 
it and kept it in the sling, it was not very pain- 
ful and by earnest entreaty he had escaped be- 
ing sent to the infirmary. 

But as the two, left all alone in Foster, 
watched the gliding skaters on the river, Paul 
told his friend the whole story of the afternoon. 

‘‘ Glory exclaimed Lansing when the nar- 
rative was complete. ‘‘Well, of all the queer 
mix-ups! Of course he couldn’t leave you on 
the river. That was only common decency.” 

“He needn’t have come back,” observed Paul 
Judicially. “I’d refused his help.” 

“True. That was white of him,” assented 
Lansing. “But those birds! That gets me. 
I don’t know what to think.” 

“Neither do I,” said Paul. “It makes me 
think of Doc’s sermon last Sunday when he 
said that the worst man in the world still had 
something good in him. Patterson seems to 
have two completely different sides. This is 
evidently the one he shows to Archer.” 

“Oh, Gabriel!” mused Phil. “I don’t won- 


294 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

der. I wish Gabriel was my little brother. 
But you know you had a dandy chance to have 
it out with Patterson.’^ 

‘T couldn’t,’’ said Paul. ‘T don’t suppose 
we said forty words to each other. But it 
makes me wonder all the more. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXIII 

A TALK WITH UNCLE COURT 

Alas for Archer’s plans! Tony never had 
her tea, for the reason that Mr. Arnold’s busi- 
ness took him to Montreal. The visit to St. 
Stephen’s was cut to a single day and that day 
a Sunday. 

Paul and Archer dined with Tony and her 
father at the Riverview Inn and then they ad- 
journed to Study 18. Alex considerately van- 
ished, leaving the four to gather around the 
fire. Archer, extremely disappointed at the 
short visit, tried to coax his uncle to leave Tony 
behind him during the trip to Canada. 

‘‘Mrs. Holmes will let her have a bed in her 
sitting-room,” he ‘ urged. “Or couldn’t she 
stay at the Inn?” 

Mr. Arnold shook his head. He was not un- 
aware of the sensation his pretty daughter had 
created in church that morning. Admiring 
and deeply respectful glances greeted her ap- 

295 


296 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

pearance on the campus, chaperoned though 
she was. The very rumor of her presence in 
Paul’s study had thrown a halo of reflected 
glory over all Foster. 

‘^Couldn’t, Archer,” he said jokingly. ‘T 
need Tony to keep my buttons sewed on. 
Paul, when’s the Easter vacation! What had 
you meant to do ! ” 

^Tt begins the ninth of April, Uncle. I 
haven’t made any plans. I knew, of course, we 
couldn’t go home for just a week. The Imp 
got sick and I didn’t know what he’d be fit for. 
I’ve been frightfully busy and there’s been a 
lot to think about and somehow I didn’t much 
care what happened. I suppose we can put in 
the time in Boston.” 

‘‘Archer does look a bit seedy,” said Mr. 
Arnold. “And you’ve had rather a bad time 
with that sprained hand. Still troubles you 
somewhat, doesn’t it! Do you remember Sea 
Pines down on the North Shore where we went 
a few summers ago! At this time of year it 
wouldn’t be crowded and the salt air ought to 
do Archer good. Suppose you write, Paul, and 
engage rooms for us all. I think I can arrange 
my business so as to get back by the tenth at 


UNCLE COURT 


297 

latest and Tony and I will stay until school be- 
gins again/’ 

Paul’s face brightened and Archer hugged 
his uncle. To have Uncle Court and Tony in 
a house by the sea for a whole week was almost 
as nice as being at home with Mother. 

‘T’ll write immediately,” said Paul. ‘T 
can’t think of anything I’d like better. And 
Archer does need a change. He’s been out of 
the infirmary nearly three weeks now and I 
think he ought to look better than he does. 
They take no end of care of him, too. ’ ’ 

‘T wish Mrs. Holmes wouldn’t take so much 
care,” said Archer patiently. She’s always 
coming after me with a glass of milk. I’m 
going to sing this afternoon, Tony,” he went 
on, turning to his cousin. ‘T’m glad you’re 
here. It’s the first time Mr. Carter has let me. 
He was afraid my throat wasn’t quite well 
again or that I would get too tired or strain 
my voice. But I’m to sing at vespers.” 

‘T’ll love to hear you,” replied Tony, cud- 
dling him. ‘T’ll listen to every word.” 

‘‘What are you going to Canada for?” Paul 
asked of his uncle. 

Mr. Arnold began an explanation of his plans 


298 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

whicli interested the older two, but failed to 
hold Archer’s attention. Slipping from 
Tony’s lap, he strolled about the study and 
finally vanished into Paul’s bedroom. 

Some time passed. The talk wandered from 
Quebec to Montreal, back to Boston, still far- 
ther away to the dear home town, back again 
to school. 

“Why, where’s Archer T’ exclaimed Antoi- 
nette at last. “Where are you, ducky?” 

“Well, I’m here,” replied a voice from 
Paul’s bedroom. 

“Come out,” said Tony gayly. “We want 
you.” 

“I think you’re mistaken,” was the dubious 
reply. 

Tony sprang up and dashed to the door to 
stop on its threshold with an exclamation half 
dismayed, half amused. “Oh, Archer,” she 
gasped, “why did you do that?” 

“What has that awful child done now?” in- 
quired Paul, following Antoinette. 

There stood Archer, looking decidedly 
abashed. He appeared to be doing nothing 
whatever but the sight of his face caused a 


UNCLE COURT 


299 


curious sensation in both spectators, conveyed 
somehow an impression of extreme incomplete- 
ness. Above his beautiful blue eyes stretched 
an expanse of unbroken white forehead. His 
dark, delicately penciled eyebrows were a thing 
of the past. 

‘‘Oh, Archer, you might have cut your nose 
off! And you look so very queer! What did 
you do it for! asked Antoinette, glancing from 
him to the razor on PauPs bureau. 

“I had no mustache and I wished to use the 
razor, Archer replied after a pause. 

At this calm statement of the literal truth, 
Mr. Arnold, who had joined the group in the 
doorway, gave a suppressed chuckle. Tony 
laughed, but Paul seized his small brother and 
pulled him into the study. 

“You’re a disgusting kid!” he exclaimed. 
“You look like the child of a monkey and a 
Chinese idol. Your eyebrows will grow out 
stiff like pigs’ bristles.” 

“They will not,” replied Archer sweetly. 
“I have cut them off before and I know.” 

“What do you think will happen when you 
sing that anthem this afternoon and the whole 


300 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

school sees the giddy sight you look? Mr. 
Carter will skin you. YouTe all kinds of an 
idiot!’’ 

During this outburst Archer stood in silence, 
looking sidewise at his brother. 

‘T suppose you’ve taken the edge otf my 
razor,” ended Paul. ‘‘But that’s a mere de- 
tail. Well, I hope you’ll keep out of my sight 
till they grow again.” 

Archer cast one glance at his uncle, whose 
eyes had an undeniable smile, though his mouth 
was grave ; cast a second at his cousin. 

“Come here, Archer,” she said. “I want to 
whisper to you.” 

“Is it permitted to smoke, Paul?” asked Mr. 
Arnold, turning to his older nephew, who had 
subsided into disgusted silence. 

“Why, — ^yes, it’s all right for you, sir. If 
Barry smells tobacco, he’ll inquire, but he’ll 
take my word that it was you who had the 
cigar. Can I get you anything, Tony?” he 
added, springing to his feet. 

“I’m just going over to Archer’s room with 
him for a few minutes,” said his cousin, reach- 
ing for her furs. “It’s quite all right for me 
to go. Dad. They are only little boys and the 


UNCLE COURT 


301 

matron will be there. 1^11 be back in plenty of 
time for vespers.’’ 

Mr. Arnold glanced at Paul’s face, still 
flushed and annoyed. His evident irritability 
could scarcely all be due to Archer’s prank. 

‘‘All right, Tony. I’ll stay here.” 

Antoinette departed, hand in hand with the 
outcast Archer, who clung to her as though she 
were his sole refuge in an unkind world. Paul 
closed the door after them, put a fresh log on 
the fire, gave an impatient glance across the 
muddy, snow-sodden campus, and turned to his 
uncle, who was meditatively regarding his 
cigar. 

“Paul,” said Mr. Arnold, “what’s the mat- 
ter?” 

His nephew started at the unexpected ques- 
tion. “Just my own natural depravity, I 
reckon. Uncle,” he said rather moodily after 
a moment. “It is low-down to take it out on 
Archer, but he knows I don’t mean half I say. 
I really can distinguish between wilful murder 
and shaving off one’s eyebrows. After all, 
they are his own eyebrows. If you hadn’t been 
here, he would have told me so, sadly, but with 
an exquisite politeness. I wish he wouldn’t be 


302 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

so everlastingly sweet-tempered. He’s spunky 
enough with other people, but he’ll take any- 
thing from me. No matter how I pitch into him, 
he hardly ever gets huffy.” 

‘Tt is no small thing to have such unquestion- 
ing admiration,” said Mr. Arnold reflectively. 

‘Tt only makes me feel the more of a fail- 
ure,” muttered Paul irritably. 

“Why, Paul,” said his uncle, looking up, 
“do you think that we blamed you for not get- 
ting that prize? Not for one moment. You 
did your best and that was all any one asked of 
you.” 

Paul colored. It was only after three false 
starts that he Anally went on. 

“I wrote home that the prize was awarded 
to Hotchkiss. I never told either you or 
Mother exactly how it happened. I tried 
to write, but it was all so complicated, and I 
couldn’t seem to put it so anybody would un- 
derstand just how it was.” 

Paul stopped. Mr. Arnold, quietly observ- 
ing him, was surprised at the expression on the 
boy’s face. Evidently the matter was serious. 

“Well,” he remarked lazily. “I’m here and 
my cigar is good for half an hour. There’s a 


UNCLE COURT 


303 


stool, which can he brought within reach con- 
venient for me to pull your hair at critical mo- 
ments. 1^11 sympathize if sympathy is needed; 
if a call-down is required, 1^11 administer it. 
In short, I^m at your service. 

“YouVe the best ever. Uncle Court,” said 
Paul gratefully, pulling up the designated has- 
sock. ‘T can’t think what I’d do without you. 
Well, here goes!” 

Mr. Arnold listened in silence to the story 
which went back to the previous year when the 
captain of the team was chosen, sketched the 
practice with its constant petty annoyances, 
the game with Sudbury and the clean sweep 
made by Faulkner. Then it touched the miss- 
ing essay and the consequent events, even 
Paul ’s accident on the river, and the timely as- 
sistance rendered by Patterson. As he con- 
cluded, Paul waited anxiously for his uncle to 
speak. 

‘‘A queer set of circumstances,” remarked 
Mr. Arnold at last. After further enlighten- 
ment on several points, he continued. ‘‘The 
affair does seem inexplicable. The person who 
took the essay had, as you say, the cleverness 
to leave yours and to remove the other. That 


304 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

was a far more subtle injury than to take yours. 
It seems odd that any mere lad could have 
thought that out. You have certainly been 
placed through no fault of your own in a pe- 
culiar and extremely trying situation.’’ 

“Do you think,” Paul asked wistfully, “that 
I did the wisest thing in withdrawing my own 
essay?” 

“It was the only action possible for your 
father’s son,” said Mr. Arnold kindly. “Paul, 
I’m sorry. This has been a hard experience. 
But you are making a mistake to brood over 
the affair. On the evidence, I doubt if Patter- 
son himself really took the essay. From what 
you tell me he must be an odd combination, but 
I doubt if he did that. He may know about it, 
though. The thing is past, so put it all be- 
hind you. Just forget it ! That’s my advice. ” 

“Oh, I do try,” said Paul, “but then I get to 
thinking and trying to fit one thing into an- 
other. Forgetting isn’t so easy. I hate to 
have run up against Patterson so many times. 
I feel as though I’d banged my head into a 
stone wall. And yet he was awfully decent to 
me on the river. He needn’t have come back 
after I’d once refused his help.” 


UNCLE COURT 


305 


said Mr. Arnold, extingnisliing tlie 
last embers of his cigar. ‘‘That’s a strong 
point in his favor. But one can learn a good 
deal from even a process of head-humping. 
Life has many stone walls along its pathways. 
It doesn’t do to take them all so seriously. 
Promise me, Paul, that you will honestly try to 
put the whole affair out of your mind.” 

“I will,” Paul agreed. “It has helped so 
much to tell you. Uncle. I feel better already. 
You always straighten things for me.” 

“I hope I shall always be able to,” said Mr. 
Arnold affectionately. “Here’s Tony. What 
have you done with Archer?” 

“He’s gone on to chapel,” replied his daugh- 
ter, absorbed in searching the depth of her 
muff. “He said the bell would ring in just a 
few minutes. Dad, those little chaps are the 
dearest lambs! I’ve had the time of my life. 
Boy Blue can have me any day he sets ! Paul, 
I’ve a present for you.” 

Antoinette had found the object of her search 
and merrily laid it in her cousin’s hand, a green 
glass object resembling a large marble. 

“What is it?” asked Paul, turning it over 
on his palm. 


3o6 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

Antoinette fairly danced with joy. ^Tt be- 
longs to your bete noire — to Archer’s cat! 
That’s one of its eyes.” 

‘‘Tony, you don’t mean to say you broke it 1” 
exclaimed Paul, bursting into a hearty laugh. 

Tony nodded. “Swatted it in the ear with 
a poker,” she explained with a side glance at 
her father. “Tipped it over on the andirons 
to complete the job. Oh, accidentally, of 
course ! When I fell all over myself apologiz- 
ing, Aunt Elinor looked so queer. She politely 
said it didn’t matter and then she caught my 
eye and we both giggled. But it’s gone, Paul, 
it’s gone! No more will it sit by the fire and 
grin.” 

At sound of the chapel bell, Antoinette 
stopped talking and dashed into Paul’s bed- 
room to inspect hat and hair. Paul turned to 
Mr. Arnold. 

“IJncle, would you object if Lansing spent 
his vacation where we do? He can’t get home, 
either. Tony’d like him, and Archer adores 
him. He stuck to me like such a Trojan all 
through this mix-up, and he’s had a hard time 
himself because he broke a ligament in his ankle 
playing the Cheshire Cat.” 


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*i U 


UNCLE COURT 


307 


Mr. Arnold whistled softly. ‘My daugh- 
ter, oh, my daughter ! ’ ^ ’ he soliloquized under 
his breath. Then he looked straight at his 
nephew. 

“Paul, I shall probably have to spend a part 
of every day in Boston. You know I trust you 
to give Tony a brother’s protection. Is Lans- 
ing a fellow that you’d honestly want her to 
know as intimately as she will of necessity 
know him at the end of the vacation?” 

Paul’s eyes met his squarely. “He is. 
Uncle. I thought about Tony before I spoke.” 

“Very good!” said Mr. Arnold cheerfully. 
“If Lansing chooses to spend his Easter holi- 
days at Sea Pines, we’ll give him a cordial in- 
vitation to sit at our table and join our revels.” 

Paul escorted his uncle and cousin to seats 
reserved for visitors and the faculty ladies. 
When he entered the vestry, he had only time to 
slip into his surplice and take his place toward 
the rear of the line already formed. He found 
the familiar service peculiarly beautiful to- 
night. Already things seemed so different since 
he had talked with Uncle Court. After all, the 
only detail that ever mattered in any situation 
was one’s own attitude toward it. 


3o8 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

At the appointed moment Archer arose for 
his anthem. Mr. Arnold, looking across the 
chancel, suddenly narrowed his gaze. His 
small nephew appeared more angelic than ever, 
but it was not Archer’s appealing attitude nor 
his unusual voice that struck his uncle most 
forcibly. 

Mr. Arnold’s gaze surveyed the other mem- 
bers of the choir. Paul alone was staring at 
his brother, and Paul’s face wore an expres- 
sion of blank incredulity. 

Mr. Arnold looked at his daughter. An- 
toinette, sitting beside him in her golden-brown 
corduroy suit and brown furs, showed only de- 
mure, down-dropped eyelashes as she listened 
in devout attention to Archer’s music. She 
was quite aware of her father’s scinitiny, 
though she had no intention whatever of look- 
ing up. Dad had a fashion of seeing consider- 
able in his quiet way, and just now, Tony 
thought he had seen enough. When she felt 
his quizzical inspection withdrawn, she stole a 
satisfied glance across the church. After all, 
it took but a slight knowledge of the art of 
‘‘making-up” to produce a pair of eyebrows 
that would pass even a close inspection ! 


CHAPTER XXiy 


CONCERNING OATMEAL 

The week by the sea turned out to Mr. Ar- 
nold’s entire satisfaction. He liked Phil Lan- 
sing at first sight, and after one evening spent 
in his company left the next morning for a day 
in town, convinced that even Tony’s careful 
mother could not object to her knowing Paul’s 
friend. 

Antoinette liked him, too; he had a way of 
saying such funny things in a quiet manner. 
He was nice to Archer and evidently very fond 
of Paul. Then it was a relief to meet a boy 
who treated her in so simple and friendly a 
way, didn’t make silly speeches nor try to be 
anything more than a pleasant comrade. Tony 
herself was so fond of outdoor sports and had 
shared so many boyish games with Paul that 
she could not endure a different type of com- 
panionship. 

The week proved warm and sunny, permit- 
ting the four to play golf and tennis, walk and 
309 


310 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

row to their hearts’ content. True, there 
seemed some limitation for every one. Lan- 
sing’s ankle, still troublesome, permitted him 
to play golf but not tennis, and they had to con- 
sider both him and Archer in planning the 
length of a walk. Paul could not play tennis 
either, and though Archer put up a good game, 
he was no match for Tony. He took a defeat 
good-naturedly, but waxed wrathy if she im- 
prudently let him win. As a concession to her 
absent mother, Tony was forbidden to go sail- 
ing unless her father was with them. 

Fortunately Archer cared little for boating 
and was quite delighted to spend a moiiiing 
on the beach with Tony, wrapped in rugs in a 
sheltered place where they could catch an oc- 
casional glimpse of the white sail dipping to 
the waves. 

But Tony’s chief grievance was that she was 
not permitted to try the bathing. To most 
people the temptation was slight for the month 
was early April and the temperature of both 
water and air far from balmy. Mr. Arnold 
placed no restriction upon Paul’s liberty but 
laid down the law as concemed both Tony and 
Archer who were obliged to sit on the shore 


CONCERNING OATMEAL 31 1 

and wonder whether they really were missing 
as much as the others pretended. 

On Easter Sunday they walked over to the 
tiny mission church in the seaport town. The 
bare little chapel afforded for music only a 
piano and no especial choir, but a brave attempt 
had been made to decorate it for Easter and a 
reverent congregation was present. Archer, 
who knew the church music as he knew his 
alphabet, sang through the entire service as a 
matter of course, absolutely unconscious that 
every one was joyfully permitting his sweet 
little voice to take the lead. Not until the ap- 
preciative curate spoke to them after it was 
over, did Archer know how much he had added 
to the beauty of their Easter. Somewhat 
abashed, he looked appealingly at Tony. 

‘T loved you to sing for them, ducky!” she 
whispered encouragingly and Archer was com- 
forted. 

School began on the following Thursday and 
the party reluctantly broke up; Tony and her 
father to return home, the boys to go back to 
St. Stephen’s. 

Archer had certainly been helped by the 
change, his face was plumper and even tanned 


312 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

by the sea winds and his appetite was ravenous. 
Mrs. Holmes would no longer need to call him 
into her sitting-room to administer chicken 
broth and milk at unconventional hours. 
Paul’s sprained hand was practically well 
again, and he looked so much more rested and 
serene that Mr. Arnold sincerely hoped no 
shadow of past troubles would follow his re- 
turn to the familiar school environment. 

‘‘Paul,” he said, drawing his nephew aside 
as they stood by the train in the Boston station 
where the boys had come to see them off. 
“You won’t forget that promise you made me?” 

“Who taught me not to forget a promise, 
Uncle Court?” asked Paul, looking him straight 
in the face. “I’m going back to a new term 
with nothing whatever left over from the old 
one.” 

“Good boy!” said Mr. Arnold, exchanging 
a warm handclasp. He took leave of Lansing, 
kissed Archer, and joined Tony, already in the 
Pullman. As the train swept them beyond 
sight of the boys, Tony turned disgustedly to 
her father. 

“Ho you see that?” she inquired, exhibiting 
a neat package. “It’s a box of candy and Phil 


CONCERNING OATMEAL 313 

Lansing gave it to me and it’s the first thing 
he’s done that I don’t like!” 

The sunny Easter vacation was followed by 
several days of continued rain and cold. Every 
teacher knows the vague discontent produced 
in a school by a prolonged storm or any 
weather preventing outdoor exercise. The 
younger boys grow homesick, the older wax 
mischievous. Gymnastic work and plenty of it 
is one antidote, but constant occupation and 
amusement must somehow be provided. 

The boys in Clarke House were not exactly 
disorderly, but they were fractious, quarrel- 
some, and lacking their usual fraternal spirit. 
Mr. Pomeroy, though housemaster for the 
youngest boys, taught entirely in the Upper 
school. On the afternoon of the third consecu- 
tive rainy day, having dismissed his last class 
of big sixth-formers, he betook his way rather 
wearily to the Nursery. He’d half a mind to 
ask the next year for a transfer to a house where 
the boys were older. And yet he rather liked 
his kids. They weren’t hard to manage if han- 
dled right and sometimes they were unspeak- 
ably funny. Most of them were nice little chaps. 
All the same he hoped they wouldn’t raise a 


314 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

rough-house that night. If they did, he felt 
inclined to spank the ring-leaders and send 
them all to bed. 

Scarcely was his study door closed behind 
him when there came a tap. 

‘‘Well, Bryan, what do you and Tommy 
wantr’ 

“We want to ask you, sir, if you’ll he judge 
at our debate this evening,” began Bryan im- 
portantly. 

‘ ‘ Oh, so there is to he a debate ! Come in and 
tell me about it. Sit down by my fire. What 
are you going to debate about and how did you 
think of doing it?” 

“Archer planned it and he and Skinny — ” 

“You mean George?” inquired Mr. Pomeroy 
politely. 

Bryan accepted the amendment. “Archer 
and George are going to be the speakers. Ar- 
cher’s brother told him how to do it, all about 
the burden of proof and the rebuffle. ’ ’ 

“Rebuttal,” interposed Mr. Pomeroy, cough- 
ing. 

“Yes, rebuttal. And Paul Arnold told 
Archer about one debate the Upper school had. 
There was a fellow on the affirmative side, very 


CONCERNING OATMEAL 315 

cocky. They told him not to turn up his 
trousers and not to wear a red necktie and not 
under any condition to quote Latin. He was 
the first speaker for his side and when he got 
up, he had his trousers half up his legs and a 
tie red enough to scare a comet, and immedi- 
ately he tried a Latin quotation and broke 
down. It rattled the leader of his side so he 
forgot all his arguments and lost the debate.’’ 

‘T recall the painful circumstances,” said 
Mr. Pomeroy. He had, in fact, coached the un- 
lucky wearer of the red tie and at the moment 
of the breakdown, felt a wild desire to throttle 
him with it. 

‘‘The reason we asked Paul Arnold,” 
Tommy took up the tale, “was because we 
thought we’d debate on whether women should 
vote, just as the Upper school did. But 
Archer couldn’t decide which side to take be- 
cause he didn’t know whether his mother was 
a sutfragette or not. Skinny said that a man 
ought to form his political opinions independ- 
ently of his female relatives. But Archer said 
it was a fellow ’s duty not to take sides against 
his mother, so he went to ask his brother what 
Mrs. Arnold thought. But Paul simply hooted 


3i6 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

and wouldn’t tell Hm. After lie stopped 
langliing, lie advised Archer to debate on a 
subject be knew something about, and then he 
told him about the major premise and syllo- 
somethings and the rest.” 

‘‘And having decided against the suffrage 
question, what is the chosen subject?” inquired 
Mr. Pomeroy with commendable gravity. 

Bryan took a small notebook from his pocket. 
“Paul Arnold wrote it for Archer in the proper 
form,” he explained, “but we thought of it our- 
selves. ‘Resolved: That oatmeal as an ar- 
ticle of daily food is injurious to health. ’ ’ ’ 

Mr. Pomeroy poked the fire energetically. 

“Archer is going to take the affirmative be- 
cause he simply loathes porridge, and Skinny, 
I mean George, is going to defend it. And will 
you be judge? It’s to be in the parlor after 
prayers.” 

“With pleasure,” responded Mr. Pomeroy. 
“It promises to be a most interesting affair.” 

The big living-room at Clarke House pre- 
sented an attractive aspect that evening. A 
small table, bearing a glass and a pitcher of 
water had been provided for the debaters, that 
all might proceed in due order. Twenty ex- 


CONCERNING OATMEAL 317 

pectant small boys were grouped on furniture 
or floor. Mr. Pomeroy took a morris chair, 
and Mrs. Holmes established herself on the 
couch, between as many little lads as could 
squeeze in with her. Bryan arose to introduce 
the speakers. He was soberly clad in dark blue 
serge with a black tie. 

‘‘Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. Inter- 
rupted by a murmur, he looked inquiringly to- 
ward the boys piled into the big rocking-chair. 

“There’s only one lady,” came the explana- 
tion. 

“It’s politer to say ladies,” said Bryan 
crushingly. “It makes Mrs. Holmes feel less 
con-conspicerous. And it’s not polite to inter- 
rupt from the floor. You are the floor, Eollo, 
everybody is floor except me and the debaters. 
Now I’m going to begin, so don’t anybody else 
say anything. 

“Ladies and gentlemen! The subject of de- 
bate this evening is: ‘Eesolved: That oat- 
meal as an article of daily food is injurious 
to health.’ I will introduce as the speaker for 
the affirmative, Mr. Archer Loring Arnold.” 

Archer arose, also soberly clad. He made 
a bow that did his dancing-master credit and 


3i8 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

surveyed the solemnly interested faces before 
him. Mr. Pomeroy, leaning on the arm of his 
chair, kept one hand over his mouth but his 
eyes were gravely bent on the speaker. 

‘‘Ladies and gentlemen,^’ began Archer. 
“We are to debate whether having oatmeal for 
breakfast every day is good for us. I main- 
tain that it isnT’^ 

Here Archer paused to consult his notes. 

“Can he have it in writing?^’ inquired the 
irrepressible Rollo. 

“Sh-h!’’ warned Bryan. “Idl rule you off 
the floor if you talk any more. They can each 
have as many notes as they can get on one 
small card. Paul Arnold said so. Go on. Ar- 
cher. If he butts in again, IT fire him.’’ 

“Oatmeal,” continued the speaker, “is made 
from oats and oats are fed to horses. There- 
fore, they were never meant for human beings 
to eat. It is a — a — pervasion of a natural law 
to feed them to hoys. 

“Secondly. It is very hard to cook oatmeal 
properly. Twelve hours are needed to get it 
done. Cook told me so. And no cook can 
spend her whole time cooking oatmeal and noth- 
ing else. So it is very seldom properly cooked. 


CONCERNING OATMEAL 319 

<<Tliirdly. After it is cooked, it is very dis- 
agreeable. Either it is all thin and slimy like 
snakes, or else it is thick and has lumps in it 
that stick in your throat. Any way it is cooked 
it is utterly re-repellent!’’ 

Mr. Pomeroy, clutching his chin, transferred 
his gaze to the rug. 

‘‘Fourthly,” continued Archer, “people are 
more healthy when they have a variety to eat. 
Sailors on ships have a dreadful disease be- 
cause they eat the same things all the time. 
Oatmeal every day for breakfast is danger- 
ous because of no variety.” 

“But what if you like it?” inquired Rollo, 
moved by keen interest in the argument. Be- 
fore the chair could speak, he was promptly 
suppressed by shocked neighbors. 

“Fifthly,” went on Archer, — “lastly, I 
meant to say, — it isn’t good for boys to have to 
eat things they especially hate. It spoils their 
dispositions. This is an important fact and 
people haven’t realized it. They talk about 
young men sowing wild oats when if the true 
facts were known, it would probably turn out 
that they were made to eat oatmeal at the — 
the — ” Archer again consulted his notes, — “at 


320 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

tlie formative period of their characters ! And 
if eating oatmeal for breakfast makes you feel 
cross all day, it is only good common-sense not 
to eat it. That^s all, I think. Do I do any- 
thing elser^ 

Audience, chair and debaters turned expect- 
antly to Mr. Pomeroy, who preserved a discreet 
silence. 

^‘The rebuffleP’ suggested Bryan. 

‘‘That comes later, said Archer. “Oh, I 
know, the conclusion. Ladies and gentlemen, 
I have tried to show you that it is injurious to 
health to have oatmeal for breakfast every day 
and I hope you will think I have proved it. ’ ’ 

Bowing, Archer sat down amid admiring ap- 
plause. 

“Mr. George Morrison will now present the 
brief for the negative,’^ announced Bryan. 

Skinny arose, his one hundred and ten pounds 
of avoirdupois in striking contrast to Archer’s 
slight person. Were a concrete example of the 
nutritive powers of oatmeal desired, he adver- 
tised them solidly. 

“Ladies and gentleman,” he began, then 
paused to fix a reproving eye on the giggling 
Tommy. “Gentlemen, I meant. I rise to 


CONCERNING OATMEAL 321 

speak in favor of having oatmeal every day 
for breakfast. It is assimilated quickly and 
every ounce of food is converted into muscle, 
vigor, and brain activity. It is most economi- 
cal and is in itself a perfectly balanced food.’^ 

Here Skinny paused. This much he had evi- 
dently cribbed verbatim from the outer wrap- 
per of a package of Quaker oats. 

‘‘Look!” he went on with a sweeping ges- 
ture, “look at the great nation of Scotland! 
What has made her what she is? Oatmeal! 
For centuries, Scotchmen have been fed upon 
oatmeal porridge. That in itself is proof that 
oatmeal is nutritious and makes both brains 
and muscle. I am acquainted with a Scotch- 
man. He has lived in the United States forty 
years and he earns a very good living washing 
windows. From boyhood up he has eaten oat- 
meal and to this he owes his success in life. 
Scotch people are noted for their courage and 
their intelligence. These are largely influ- 
enced by what we eat. It is sure proof, there- 
fore, that oatmeal is good for people. 

“It is an excellent discipline for boys who 
donT like things to have to eat them. It 
strengthens their will power. Therefore, it is 


322 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

a good thing to eat oatmeal whether you like it 
or not. 

‘‘Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you will de- 
cide with me that oatmeal should be eaten every 
day.^’ 

Skinny subsided amid delighted applause, 
and Bryan consulted his notes. 

“The next thing is the rebuffle, no, re-buttal. 
Anyway, Archer, it^s your turn again.” 

Archer arose, pink-cheeked, but self-pos- 
sessed. 

‘ ‘ My op — op — my — what is he. Boy Blue ? ’ ’ 

“Opposite, I guess,” suggested Bryan. 

“My opposite,” began Archer, “says that 
Scotland is a great nation. I know the answer 
to that. Perhaps it was once, but now it be- 
longs to Great Britain and they cut off Mary, 
Queen of Scots’ head! And if it was oatmeal 
brought her to the scaffold, all the more reason 
not to eat it. Oatmeal does not agree with some 
people and you can show just as much will 
power by refusing to eat it as by eating it when 
you hate it. Yes, more! And if I ate oat- 
meal for forty years and then had to wash win- 
dows for a living, I’d be mad that I ever swal- 
lowed any. 


CONCERNING OATMEAL 323 

‘‘There’s just one thing more. My brother 
Paul hates oatmeal as much as I do. To prove 
it isn’t true that you need it for muscle and 
brains, Paul never eats it and Paul is captain of 
St. Stephen’s football team!” 

The tremendous applause that greeted this 
rebuttal quite abashed Archer. He subsided 
in embarrassment. 

“Your turn, Skinny,” suggested Bryan. 

“I haven’t anything more to say,” an- 
nounced Skinny, rising slowly, “except that 
Archer has got the history mixed. England 
chose a Scottish king, didn’t they, Mr. Pome- 
roy? And that shows how much eating oat- 
meal can do for a nation. It has made Eng- 
land as well as Scotland. And, if I’d thought 
of it, I’d have found out whether Hicks, the 
baseball captain, doesn’t like porridge!” 

“Please now, Mr. Pomeroy, it’s your turn,” 
said Bryan politely when the applause finally 
subsided. 

Mr. Pomeroy rose with deliberation. Dur- 
ing the rebuttal he had evidently undergone 
severe physical pangs of some nature. 

“Mrs. Holmes and gentlemen,” he began 
with a courteous inclination of his head. 


324 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

* ‘ There ! ^ ’ put in the triumphant Rollo, ‘ ‘ that 
was what they should have said.’^ 

‘T have greatly enjoyed this debate,” Mr. 
Pomeroy went on. ‘ ‘ In my opinion both speak- 
ers have handled the subject ably and brought 
to bear upon it subtle and far-reaching argu- 
ments. Several in particular have impressed 
me. Never before, have I heard Mr. Arnold’s 
strikingly original theory concerning youthful 
wild oats, nor did I previously realize the fun- 
damental cause of Queen Mary’s downfall. I 
agree with Mr. Morrison in his proud claims 
for the brains and brawn of Scotland. It is 
indeed, difficult to decide just where the honors 
lie. I even hesitate to offer to such enthusiastic 
amateurs in the noble art of debate, any seri- 
ous criticism. But the whole point of any argu- 
ment must lie in discussing a question that ad- 
mits of a definite answer. When doctors dis- 
agree, who shall decide! And physicians do 
disagree concerning the benefits of oatmeal.” 

Mr. Pomeroy was stopped by the glee of 
the delighted boys. 

‘‘But, granted that the question can be de- 
bated,” he went on, “I am inclined to think that 
Mr. Arnold’s brief for the affirmative presents 


CONCERNING OATMEAL 325 

the more forcible arguments. Even though 
personally, I am fond of porridge, Mr. Arnold’s 
graphic words have convinced me that those 
who do not like it may find it extremely 
nauseating. To refer, in this pleasant meet- 
ing, to such disagreeable things as penalties, — I 
believe that there exists in Clarke House a rule 
providing an early bed hour for any boy who 
three times in one week refuses to eat his por- 
ridge. If Mr. Arnold will pardon the painful 
allusion, I fear that it is due to this rule that 
we frequently lose his cheerful company from 
our circle. Now, I am really so impressed by 
the fiuency with which he has pleaded his cause 
that I feel inclined to ask Mrs. Holmes if she 
won’t reconsider in the case of boys who hon- 
estly dislike oatmeal, and let them have a choice 
of cereal for breakfast.” 

Mr. Pomeroy got no further for the entire 
audience arose as one man to surround the 
laughing matron with shouts of persuasive glee. 
Archer reached her first, and with his arms 
around her neck, Bryan beseeching on one side 
and Tommy on the other and fifteen eager lads 
falling over her feet and one another, what 
could she do but yield? 


326 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘‘You did that rather well, Archer,” said 
Mr. Pomeroy kindly as the successful orator 
and Bryan came to say good-night. “You 
profited, of course, by your brother’s hints, but 
you showed an intelligent idea of the proper 
constructive form for a debate, and you really 
understood the nature of the rebuttal.” 

Bryan looked proudly at his room-mate. “I 
knew Archer would win,” he declared loyally. 

“But it was you, Mr. Pomeroy, who got us 
let otf the oatmeal!” Archer’s charming smile 
lighted his face as he spoke. “If we debate 
about sitting up half an hour later, will you 
be judge?” 

“My principles would never permit me to be 
judge in such a discussion,” said the house- 
master gravely. “I have too firm convictions 
on that subject. No arguments could move 
them!” 


CHAPTEE XXV 

AliEx’s DISCOVERY 

Paul resolutely kept tlie promise made to liis 
uncle. Those hard weeks did not pass with- 
out leaving some trace. He was graver, his 
face had settled into more mature lines, but 
he no longer seemed resentful, even to Alex 
and Phil, who best knew what an ordeal the 
affair of the essay had been to his naturally 
proud spirit. 

On seeing Paul again after their meeting on 
the river, Patterson had politely inquired for 
the injured arm. Though their intercourse 
had since been confined to a nod on passing, the 
two no longer ignored each other ^s existence. 

Paul flung himself with his usual energy into 
both work and play, studying hard for the 
‘‘preliminaries^’ considered by Archer so mys- 
terious and, finding that his wrist would per- 
mit of tennis, going in for the singles with 
great vigor. Hicks in vain tried to induce him 

327 


328 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

to come out for the nine ; Paul declared that he 
hadn^t an eye for baseball. 

So the days passed and the beautiful New 
England spring came to Riverview, beautiful as 
it can only be to a country that has known the 
winter. May bestowed apple-blossoms, June 
brought roses and examinations. Commence- 
ment drew near, — ^was only a week off. 

One hot evening Paul was studying for his 
last examination on the morrow. Alex, who 
had finished that day, announced his intention 
of taking a stroll around the campus. 

‘Tf you’re going by the Nursery,” said Paul, 
‘^will you stop and tell Archer to bring over 
one of his extra sheets! Mother says she sent 
me some but the little heathen never gave them 
to me. They keep putting one on my bed that 
is all holes and I’m tired of sticking my feet 
through it. I can’t stand it any longer if this 
is the last week.” 

The Nursery was enjoying its after-dinner 
relaxation, hut Archer left the game of ball 
and willingly went up to his room with Alex. 

‘‘Oh, yes, there are some sheets,” he re- 
marked cheerfully, “and if Paul wants ’em of 


ALEX’S DISCOVERY 


329 


course he can have them, but I don’t think 
Mother ever told me to give them to him.” 

‘‘Well, fish them out,” said Alex, seating 
himself on Archer’s bed and looking around 
with amused eyes. The room so evidently be- 
longed to two little boys ! In one comer was a 
heap of treasured pine cones and a big hor- 
nets’ nest. Bryan’s stamp album lay open on 
the window seat; a wooden sword and a dis- 
carded Eton collar ornamented Archer’s 
bureau along with a jackknife, a photograph of 
his mother, a round ball of tar, and a heap of 
small stones. 

“Here they are,” said Archer from the 
depths of his trunk. “But I’ll bring them over 
myself.” 

“I don’t mind toting them. I think Paul 
wants one to-night,” replied Alex. As he 
lifted the pile, a paper of many folds, fastened 
with a clip, slid from between the sheets and 
fell at his feet. 

“Why!” said Archer, picking it up. “I’d 
forgotten all about that. I guess I’d better 
give it back to Paul now. ’ ’ 

Alex had taken the manuscript and as he 


330 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

glanced at it, gave a startled look from it to 
Archer. 

‘‘Give it back to Paul? Where did you get 
this, Gabriel?’’ 

Archer, still kneeling before the open trunk, 
sat back upon his heels. He did not notice the 
gravity of Alex’s face. 

“I took it away a long time ago,” he ad- 
mitted frankly. “It was that day when we 
were playing pirates and Paul spanked me be- 
cause we were out of bounds. I took it to get 
even with him, ’cause then, he’d have to do it 
over and it would serve him right. After- 
wards, almost right away, I didn’t care any 
more and I meant to give it back. But I for- 
got it. What makes you look so queer?” he 
added, rather amazed at the expression on 'a 
face that usually wore a smile of good comrade- 
ship for him. 

“Look here, Gabriel,” said Alex, sitting 
down again on the bed. “Tell me just where 
you got this. ’ ’ 

“I don’t want to,” said Archer, blushing. 
“I only took it to plague Paul and I didn’t mean 
to keep it so long. ’ ’ 

“It happens to be more important than you 


ALEX’S DISCOVERY 


331 


realize/’ replied Alex, kindly but very gravely. 
‘ ‘ Tell me, did you take it from a pile of essays 
on Mr. Barrows’ desk!” 

‘^Not exactly,” admitted Archer. ‘^Mrs. 
Holmes sent me with a note. Mr. Barrows 
wasn’t there so I went into his study to leave 
it. I had Patsy with me for company and he 
wriggled out of my arms and jumped on the 
desk and batted some papers off. I picked 
them up but one had gone way under. It’s a 
very big desk. I crawled under after it and 
just then I heard Paul coming. I know his 
step. I didn’t feel like seeing him after the 
way he’d treated me, so I stayed where I was. 
He went right away again. Then I came out 
with the paper and I saw it was Paul’s essay. 
I decided I wouldn’t put it back but keep it a 
little while just to get even with him for licking 
me. So I poked Patsy out from under the 
couch and came and put the essay in my trunk. 
I didn’t think of it but once again. Did Paul 
have to do it over? He never said anything 
about it.” 

‘‘No, he didn’t write it again,” said Alex 
slowly. ‘‘You see, this essay doesn’t happen 
to be Paul’s.” 


332 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

‘‘Not Paul’s? But that was his subject. I 
knew about it for I saw the stuff that came 
from Uncle Court. And he told me he was go- 
ing to sign himself Ajax. It was a secret, but 
he let me into it. I thought it was his.” 

Archer’s puzzled and bewildered eyes were 
fixed on the older boy who was looking ex- 
tremely serious. 

“Oh, Gabriel,” he suddenly exclaimed, 
thrusting his fingers through his hair, “what a 
giddy mess you and Patsy have managed to get 
us into! Where were you the two mornings 
when Dr. Hilton spoke in chapel about the miss- 
ing essay?” 

“I guess it was when I had tonsilitis over in 
the infirmary. I never heard one single word 
about the essay. What is the matter?” 

“Well, you see, this isn’t Paul’s essay. It 
happened that there was another fellow who 
wrote on that same subject and just by chance, 
hit on the same name to sign it with. The 
judges read the essays and gave the prize to the 
one who had written under the name of Ajax. 
When they came to open the envelopes with the 
real names, there were two marked Ajax but 
only one essay. Mr. Barrows remembered that 


ALEX’S DISCOVERY 


333 


when they were given him he noticed the two 
with the same pseudonym. But now there was 
only one essay left.^’ 

Archer’s wide blue eyes expressed puzzled 
concern but no real understanding of the situa- 
tion. 

‘‘The essay that was left, was Paul’s,” went 
on Alex. “The one you took does look like 
Paul’s writing, but it belongs to a fellow who 
isn’t very friendly with Paul. You surely 
knew that Paul had a hard time with the foot- 
ball team and that we lost both match games ? ’ ’ 

“I didn’t know why,” said poor Archer, be- 
ginning to understand that he had done some- 
thing very much worse than he knew. 

“We didn’t win, largely because this espe- 
cial fellow worked against Paul. Well, when 
it came out that one essay was missing, Mr. 
Barrows tried to find out who had been in his 
study during the few minutes he was away. 
Paul at once said that he went in to leave a 
notice but that he went out immediately.” 

“He did,” remarked Archer. “I was un- 
der the desk.” 

“You can see how it was, can’t you? Paul 
was the only one known to have been in the 


334 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

study. Paul liad good reason to feel resentful 
against Patterson, and it was Patterson’s es- 
say that was missing. And the judges had 
voted in Paul’s favor. It was a pretty fishy 
situation for anybody!” 

‘‘Did they think Paul did it? Paul?^^ de- 
manded Archer, turning pale as the idea 
dawned on him. 

“No one who knew Paul thought so. Dr. 
Hilton stood by him. Mr. Barrows said he’d 
believe in Paul until the last gun was fired, and 
all his friends had faith in him. But Patter- 
son has friends, too, and they sided with him. 
Some nasty things were said, Gabriel, and Paul 
had to stand it.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Archer pitifully. 
“Patterson is my friend. Who did get the 
prize?” 

“Paul refused to take it. He asked permis- 
sion to withdraw his essay and the judges let 
him. Patterson was given the chance to write 
his over again and he wouldn’t. So they gave 
the prize to the essay they thought next best. 
Harry Hotchkiss got it.” 

Archer was silent. An expression of con- 
sternation was spreading over his face. 


ALEX’S DISCOVERY 


335 


‘‘What are you going to do about it, Ga- 
briel f ’ ’ Alex asked. It was evident that Archer 
at last understood the situation. 

“Idl take the essay to Paul and tell him I 
torok it,^’ said Archer bravely. 

“That would he all right had it really been 
PauPs essay,’’ Alex answered gently. “I 
only wish it had been! Oh, Gabriel, you may 
not understand why I think so, but honest, old 
chap, it’s up to you to go and tell Dr. Hilton 
before you say one single word to Paul.” 

The reason for this was beyond Archer’s 
comprehension. He stared helplessly at Alex, 
his face expressing both fright and contrition. 

“It’s the only thing for you to do. Just take 
the essay and go and tell him exactly how it 
happened, about Patsy and everything.” 

Archer was silent for a moment. In some 
way he had done something far worse than he 
had any idea, and, what mattered still more, 
people thought Paul had done it. 

“I’ll go,” he said bravely. 

“You’re the stuff, Gabriel!” replied Alex 
encouragingly. “Tell him all about it just as 
you have to me. Come on. He’ll be in his 
office now and you can get it over with.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 

IN THE DOCTOR STUDY 

Auex walked with Archer across the campus, 
his sympathy more and more aroused by the 
expression on the white little face. With his 
lips set so firmly, Archer looked strikingly like 
Paul. 

Don’t be afraid, old chap,” Alex said kindly 
as they reached the office. ‘ ‘ Doc always under- 
stands and he always meets a fellow half-way. 
Just be plucky and make a clean breast of it.” 

Paul was still studying when his room-mate 
returned, his attention concentrated on his 
task. Fully ten minutes passed before he 
closed his book with a sigh of satisfaction. 

“Hello! Did Archer say he’d bring those 
sheets?” 

“Sheets? What sheets?” asked Alex, turn- 
ing from the window where he was gazing out 
with eyes that saw neither the distant hills nor 
the twilight sky. 


336 


IN THE DOCTOR’S STUDY 337 

Paul gave a grunt between amusement and 
disgust. 

‘‘Oh, yes, I remember, went on Alex. 
“Gabriel had them but we both forgot about 
bringing them.’’ 

“Never mind. I’ll have to look him up, any- 
way, for Mother inclosed a note for him in this 
letter. I’ll just put these accounts in shape 
and then go over.” 

Alex took a book and began a pretense of 
reading. Sooner or later the Doctor would 
send for Paul. He hoped it might be soon. 
Complete justification for those hard weeks was 
at hand but in a form that could but cause Paul 
additional pain. 

Half an hour passed silently in Study 18. 
Then among the footsteps traversing the corri- 
dor came some that paused at their open door. 

“Is Mr. Arnold here?” asked the voice of one 
of the janitors. “The Doctor’s wanting you, 
sir. He ’s waiting in the office. ’ ’ 

Paul cast a startled glance at Alex, but rose 
at once. “Wonder what he wants! All right, 
Michael, I’ll come right away.” 

Alex made no comment and Paul, looking sur- 
prised, went out. Had the Doctor wanted to 


338 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

talk with him about studies or standing he 
would have been notified in the usual way after 
morning chapel. It must be for some emer- 
gency. Was Archer ill? But Alex had just 
seen him. What could it be? 

Paul could not get out of his head the idea 
that the summons was somehow connected with 
Archer, but his amazement was great when he 
entered the anteroom by one door just as Pat- 
terson came in by the other. Both stopped in 
surprise but before either could speak, Dr. 
Hilton appeared from the inner office. 

‘‘Yes,’’ he said gravely, “I sent for you both. 
There is something you each should know. 
Come in.” 

Archer, very pale, was standing by the side of 
Dr. Hilton’s swivel chair. At the expression 
that came over his brother’s face, he turned even 
whiter. The principal seated himself again and 
taking some folded papers from his desk, held 
them out to Patterson. 

“Is that your missing essay?” he inquired. 

“Yes, sir,” Patterson replied, after a sec- 
ond’s examination. 

“Now, Archer,” said Dr. Hilton kindly, put- 
ting his arm around the slight little figure that 


IN THE DOCTOR’S STUDY 339 

was fairly quivering before Paul’s stern face, 
‘ ‘ I want you to tell your brother and Patterson 
exactly wbat you told me a few minutes ago.” 

Archer obeyed, bravely and faltering but 
once at a muffled exclamation from Paul. At 
the conclusion of his story there was perfect si- 
lence. Patterson, twirling the recovered essay 
between his fingers, was looking at the floor in 
an embarrassed manner. Paul, almost as pale 
as Archer, leaned back in his chair with averted 
face. 

‘‘This explains the mystery of the essay,” 
said Dr. Hilton, breaking the silence. “Archer 
did not realize nor intend the injury he did you 
both. It is greater for you, Patterson, than 
for Arnold, since you are leaving school this 
term, while he will have another opportunity to 
compete for the prize next year. Having heard 
Archer’s story, neither of you can believe that 
he meant to do the harm he succeeded in doing. 
But the injury is just as real as if it had been 
planned maliciously. I shall, of course, in jus- 
tice to you, Patterson, explain the affair at 
chapel to-morrow.” 

Another silence fell. Patterson looked un- 
comfortable and Paul sat like a statue. Ar- 


340 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

cher, still within Dr. Hilton’s encircling arm, 
had hidden his face on the principal’s shoul- 
der. 

‘‘Explanation is due to you also, Paul,” went 
on Dr. Hilton. ‘ ‘ Though none of us who knew 
you well believed for an instant that you had 
anything to do with the abstraction of the es- 
say, still, you were the only person known to 
enter Mr. Barrows’ study. Had Archer not 
been in the infirmary, he would have heard 
about the trouble and if at any time, he had 
known, he would have owned up, wouldn’t you. 
Archer?” 

There was a choked assent. Paul still sat 
motionless and the rustling of Patterson’s es- 
say as he nervously twiddled it in his fingers 
alone broke the stillness. The principal sat 
watching the two, an inscrutable expression 
masking his face. Paul could not speak first, 
for Paul, by the very nature of the case, could 
make no plea for the small sinner. Had Pat- 
terson really in him the nobler qualities Dr. Hil- 
ton felt certain only waited an awakening? 
Three long moments passed, ending with a sup- 
pressed sob from Archer. At its sound, Patter- 
son looked up. 


IN THE DOCTOR’S STUDY 341 

^‘Dr. Hilton, I don’t care about any public 
explanation. I’ve always liked Archer. He 
didn’t mean it, — he only meant to plague Ar- 
nold for a day or so. He just forgot to return 
it. To have the whole atfair explained before 
the school is too tough a penalty for a little chap 
like him.” 

‘‘Archer did it and he must take the conse- 
quences, ’ ’ cut in Paul in a cold, impersonal tone. 

“I am willing!” said Archer, lifting a proud 
yellow head. “I didn’t know I was being so 
bad. When I first came here, I asked Paul to 
change names with me ’cause I was afraid I’d 
disgrace this one without knowing it. Dr. Hil- 
ton can tell everybody I took the essay. I ’ll tell 
them myself if he wants me to! I want the 
boys to know, so nobody can ever think you did 
it, Paul. And Patterson is my friend, too. I 
didn’t mean to hurt him either.” 

Paul’s rigid pose softened a little. At least 
the culprit was no coward. A sympathetic 
smile crossed the principal’s face and he stroked 
the curly yellow head with a gentle hand. 

“It’s hardly fair,” went on Patterson, turn- 
ing to Dr. Hilton, “to punish Archer as though 
he knew what he was doing. Only the fellows 


342 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

who are used to kids at home will understand 
that he never meant it. If it^s explained to the 
whole school, it’s an awful punishment. He can 
never live it down. And he’s such a little 
chap. ’ ’ 

Still, Dr. Hilton was silent. Would Patter- 
son say the one thing he was hoping for! 

‘‘Arnold, I did you an injustice,” said Pat- 
terson, looking for the first time at Paul. “I 
thought you took the essay. You had a big 
score to settle with me and it was a chance to 
even things up.” 

A sudden light came into Dr. Hilton’s eyes. 
Paul looked up. 

“I was envious of you in the beginning,” Pat- 
terson went on. “I wanted the captaincy. It’s, 
well, — it’s the only kind of school honor my 
father cares much about. When I came out for 
the team, I meant to play up to you, but at first 
you didn’t get the fellows together and I got 
sore thinking how much easier I could have done 
it. Somehow, I felt that the coach thought so, 
too. Well, I let myself go in the Sudbury game, 
— yes, I tripped you. And I let Faulkner 
through the line. Afterwards, I saw that in 
laying you out, I’d played false to the school. 


IN THE DOCTOR’S STUDY 343 

And after all, the school means a good deal to 
me.’’ 

The color was coming hack to Paul’s face as 
he looked intently at Patterson. Both were ob- 
livious of the others. 

‘‘What you said to the fellows after the 
Faulkner game showed me where I stood,” Pat- 
terson continued. “And then when the school 
cheered us at the station — I — I realized what 
I’d done. And I was sorry. But it was no use 
to say so; you wouldn’t have believed it. Then 
when this essay business came up, I simply 
thought you ’d taken your chance to get even. ’ ’ 

“But I thought the same of you,” said Paul, 
leaning forward. “I thought you took away 
your own essay just to make it impossible for 
me to have the prize.” 

Patterson looked surprised. “I don’t won- 
der,” he admitted. “After the trick I played 
you with Faulkner, you had a right to think 
me capable of ’most anything. But I ought not 
to have suspected you. Down at the bottom 
I knew you weren’t that sort. I knew it, 
because — ’ ’ Patterson hesitated, — ‘ ‘ because, 
with all you had against me, you didn’t pre- 
vent my chumming with Gabriel.” 


344 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

There was another pause. PauPs steady 
gray eyes were bent on the floor. Dr. Hilton 
still sat in silence. 

‘‘Can’t we call the whole thing ended?” Pat- 
terson asked with real dignity, turning to the 
principal as he spoke. “Hotchkiss had the 
prize weeks ago. It can’t do anybody any 
earthly good to explain publicly. Gabriel 
didn’t mean it any more than his kitten did. If 
you’ll let him off completely and Arnold will 
accept it, I’ll feel that it’s making up a little for 
my disloyalty to St. Stephen’s.” 

Across the face of the principal came a look 
of extreme satisfaction as two outstretched 
hands met in a close grip. His faith in Pat- 
terson’s better nature was justified ! And Paul 
had met him half-way ! 

Neither said anything more. Patterson, 
flushed but composed, looked inquiringly at Dr. 
Hilton. 

“It shall be as you wish,” replied the princi- 
pal. “No one except Mr. Barrows need ever 
know. We will consign the entire affair to ob- 
livion and I hope that with it, you will both bury 
all that the year has held of ungenerous rivalry 
and misunderstanding. ’ ’ 


IN THE DOCTOR’S STUDY 345 

After Patterson had gone, both Dr. Hilton 
and Paul turned to Archer. Deprived when the 
principal rose of a protecting arm, and not 
grasping the full significance of the scene be- 
fore him, he retreated to the couch behind the 
desk where he buried his face in the cushions. 
Paul hesitated but a second before pulling the 
limp little figure into his arms. Archer clung 
to him with renewed sobs of penitence. 

“Archer,’’ said Dr. Hilton, sitting down be- 
fore the two, “I respect you very much for try- 
ing so honestly to atone for your wrong-doing. 
I respect you too, for your willingness to take 
the penalty. But I think the knowledge of how 
you have hurt Paul is punishment enough. If 
you are ever again tempted to take revenge upon 
anybody for a real or fancied injury, I hope you 
will remember this experience.” 

“You’d better tell me not to be a brute to 
him,” said Paul half under his breath. “I 
ought not to have licked him. ’ ’ 

“I told you so when you did it,” remarked 
Archer unexpectedly. “But you may do it now 
if you choose. ’ ’ 

“I don’t choose,” said Paul, joining Dr. Hil- 
ton in a smile. “We’ve both made a mistake, 


346 ARNOLD’S LITTLE BROTHER 

Archer. But I reckon we’ll have to forgive 
each other and start again.” 

Through the open office windows floated the 
scent of roses and the sound of distant music. 
Some one in Sanderson was playing a violin. 
Across on the chapel steps the seniors had be- 
gun to sing. Another year was coming for 
Paul, one that would open unhampered by the 
troubles of this, and thanks to Patterson, — ^per- 
haps to Nelly, — Archer could return with an un- 
clouded name. 


THE END 


FOUR GORDONS 


By EDNA A. BROWN 

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Stories of Brave Old Times 

Some Pen Pictures of Scenes Which 
Took Place Previous to, or Connected 
With, the American Revolution 

By Helen M. Cleveland Profusely illustra- 
ted Large i2mo Cloth $1.25 

I T is a book for every library, a book for 
adults, and a book for the young. Per- 
haps no other book yet written sets the great 
cost of freedom so clearly before the young, 
consequently is such a spur to patriotism. 

** It can unqualifiedly be commended as a book for 
youthful readers; its great wealth of illustrations 
adding to its value." — Chicago News, 


For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price 
by the publishers, 

LOTHROP. LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 




NOBODY’S ROSE 

Or, The Girlhood of Rose Shannon 
By ADELE E. THOflPSON 

Illustrated by A. Q. Learned 12nio Cloth 
Price, Net, $1.00 Postpaid, $1.12 

•^HIS is something particularly attractive 
* and ennobling in the development of 
a young life from sordid and unpromising 
conditions to the rich promise of superb 
womanhood by the force of inborn 
character, aided at the right time by 
friends with wisdom in their minds as 
well as kindness in their hearts. The 
plan of the story is an old but ever- 
pleasing one — a beautiful waif coming 
into her own after experiences that would 
have made shipwreck of a nature less 
strong in its inherited qualities — but the ability with which 
the story is told is very unusual. After being amused by 
quaint characters and comical situations, and strangely moved 
by what a lonely young girl has to endure, one leaves the book 
with a strengthened reverence for real goodness and a firmer 
belief that the truly deserving can and do win friendship and 
appreciation. A good, bright, and wholesome book for girls 
from twelve to sixteen. 

“Girls from twelve to sixteen are very sure to like ‘Nobody’s Rose* 
exceedingly .” — Chicago Inter- Ocean, 

“ The story should broaden the sympathies, and it is likely that a 
reading of it will aid in self-development .” — Newark News. 

“The ability with which the story is told is very unusual .” — Herald 
and Presbyter, 

“It is wholesome, admirable, and a most readable story .” — Buffalo 
News. 



Por sale by all booksellers or sent on receipt of postpaid 
price by the publishers 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 


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